The Ghost in the Machine
by thegenuineimitation
Summary: Nothing caged, be it man or beast, stays that way forever. Slash. HP/RR
1. Prologue: A Long Wait

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Prologue: A Long Wait**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series.

**Summary:** No man or beast can remain caged forever. Slash. HP/RR.

**Author's Note:** Yes I started another fic, no I'm not crazy, I realize that with several as of yet incomplete fics out there using up the sparse but valuable time I have to post this instead of an update to one of those is probably a bad plan but...meh. I couldn't help it. So sue me.

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><p>Harry Potter.<p>

Boy-Who-Lived.

Savior of the Wizarding World.

He was sitting in a five by five holding cell warded to the nines and guarded by an insane number of trained Aurors. He was still wearing what they'd caught him in, loose pants and nothing else. While the outfit was perfect for a lazy day in an Arizona heat wave he was friggin' cold locked up in some dank corner of the Ministry back in jolly old England.

He hadn't been given a blanket but temperature control kept him from actually freezing. He was just uncomfortable.

He'd been here for, he guessed, a month. He still had friends in high places who were bearing down on the new Minister for Magic and his bureaucracy trying to get the order for his execution rescinded. At least, he was fairly sure that's why he was still waiting for either death or daylight.

Harry reflected that this was really all his own fault. If he'd stayed in England during the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat instead of immediately disappearing to wander the globe he could have used his influence on the Wizarding World to prevent this. He could have stopped the new government, which was comprised of all the former government's faults with none of its malleable bribability, from ever coming into power.

After Ron's death though he had needed time to grieve and after that he'd become used to the freedom of flitting from place to place, exploring the world learning about other cultures and places. He'd corresponded with Hermione, Luna, the Weasleys and Neville. They'd all done much the same thing he had, thrown themselves into actually living life without worrying about politics or war.

Hermione had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy of all people and though they never married together they had three kids and were running a chain of private luxurious hotels in both the Wizarding and muggle worlds. Busying themselves with their work and family they hadn't noticed the signs.

Luna had done much what Harry himself had done only she had done it for the specific purpose of discovering heretofore undiscovered magical creatures. She'd met Rolf Scamander a fellow mythozoologist along the way and though they hadn't as of yet found any Crumpled-Horned Snorkaks they were both deliriously happy with each other. In remote wildernesses completely cut off, by their own disinterest, from news of the Ministry.

Neville had hooked up with Tonks in the early days of the aftermath. He'd been her partner when they'd both still been Aurors and he'd helped her raise Teddy and work through her grief over Remus' death. Then slowly they'd become more. Lovers and parents to Teddy. They poured all their time and energy into their family and then into their students when McGonagall had hired them on as Defense and Herbology professors respectively.

Molly and Arthur had rebuilt the Burrow a process taking months and comprising fits and starts that eventually collected into a hodge-podge whole. It would go to Ginny when the elder Weasleys passed on.

Arthur had retired from his position at the Ministry his pension and Molly's new bakery in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole kept them living comfortably and peacefully.

Ginny had joined the Hollyhead Harpies and was anything but peaceful. Harry's revelation about his sexuality had caused Ginny no amount of self-esteem issues and she apparently found it necessary to work through them by sleeping her way through the International Quidditch League. Needless to say she didn't read the papers much.

George, Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson kept WWW afloat in the aftermath of Fred's death and eventually the Joke shop began expanding revitalized by new ideas as they took on apprentices and finally were able to move forward. But wallowing in grief and fighting to save a business left little time for keeping track of political curves.

Bill and Fleur had moved to Cairo and spent the majority of their days plundering forgotten ruins for treasure. English politics were as far from their minds as it was possible to be.

Harry had heard about the trial and the verdict only after it had happened. He had been staying with his sometime lover Julien Delacour, Fleur's cousin, when Gabrielle, still a rather big fan of his despite the fact that it had been years since he'd pulled her out of the Black Lake, had burst in and informed him the Ministry of Magic had petitioned the International Confederation of Wizards and had revoked his diplomatic immunity in order to hunt him down and have him executed for being a former Horcrux and posessee of Voldemort's.

Apparently too much time with the Dark Lord in your head could turn you into one yourself. Who knew?

He'd left Julien immediately and gone on the run. It had taken the bounty hunters two years to catch up with him and even then they'd barely prevented his escaping three times before they actually made it to this miserable cell.

They'd locked him into Binding Chains cutting him off from his magic. His magic thought he was dead and was slowly draining away back into the Earth from whence it came and all he could do was sit here and hope to be rescued before the last of it ran dry.

The cell was small, bare and depressing but there was an old deaf house elf who kept it clean and him as well with her magic so at least it didn't smell too badly. There were three meals a day, the same crap they served in the cafeteria above, and he had no cellmates and none of the guards seemed inclined to try and hurt him. He'd had worse at the Dursleys.

It was waiting in the dark that got to him.

There was nothing here to do except ward off the feeling of the silence and blackness pressing all around him, for hours, days weeks...

If he let it the feeling would press tight against his senses sending the primal parts of his brain that still remembered he wasn't at the top of the food chain into screaming fits until he was sweating and shaking with near panic. He'd done it on purpose a couple of times just to shake things up, worked himself into such a dither that he'd ripped his nails off trying to claw through the walls and floor.

The house elf had tattled on him after that and judging by the horrified expressions on the Aurors' faces when they came to inspect the damage it hadn't helped his case.

The trap door to his little cell swung open and Harry tried not to shrink away from the light that hurt his eyes after so long underground.

"Potter!" called a familiar clipped voice.

"Secretary Blinthe, how nice of you to visit," said Harry clearing his throat to try and erase some of the disuse from his voice.

Blinthe, as usual, ignored Harry's jibes. The picture of bureaucratic efficiency, that was him. He was a bland sort of man, a half-blood who'd worked as a memory modifier before the Ministry's fall to Voldemort. A steady looking sort of man people thought they could depend on if not be particular friends with. He was, Harry reflected, a man with no soul; obedient to a fault, loyal, practical, a little ruthless and not particularly squeamish.

"Mr. Potter, as the Secretary for Internal Defense it is my duty to inform you that you have been charged as unstable and dark and thus a threat to this government. As such, the Ministry of Magic in conjunction with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has sentenced you to eternal imprisonment. The Aurors will escort you to Azkaban Island Prison where you will be entombed in enchanted stone. If you have any final words you may speak them now,"

Harry laughed a bit. A bitter humorless sound.

"You're all fucking idiots," he said.

Dutifully Blinthe noted the words down on his clipboard. He then turned to the burly Auror standing beside and slightly behind him.

"Bring him," Blinthe ordered before turning away his boot heels clacking smartly on the polished floor.

The Auror gave him a pitying glance.

"They tried y'know. Yer friends," he said.

"I know,"

Harry saw a flash of red light and then everything was dark.

And it stayed dark.

He couldn't move in the dark. It pressed close against his skin keeping him still. It pressed close against his mind keeping him silent, his thoughts down to mere whispers. He still perceived the shadowy echo of murmured voices and the occasional brush of a flower against his feet or rain and wind across his body jolted him into greater awareness for awhile.

Mostly though he felt nothing.

Mostly Harry dreamed and remembered and waited.

For what he didn't know.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Just setting the scene here a bit. Let me know what you guys think. Thx.


	2. Chapter One: Crash Landing

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter One: Crash Landing**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series anything you recognized was transcripted from the movie or adapted from the original screenplay and thus is not mine. Cheers.

**Author's** **Note: **Well, I am very gratified to have such an enthusiastic response after a prologue. Wasn't expecting that. So thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited!

Now I know this chapter has a lot of stuff directly from the movie and I promise you'll get greater deviation from the original as we go along.

Also people have expressed concerns about Harry being OOC or the eventuality of mpreg in this story. Just letting you all know there will be no mpreg in this fic. For those of you who were hoping, sorry guys not really my shtick.

Now on to the good stuff!

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><p>Carolyn Fry woke as if from a nightmare gasping for breath her hands curled into claws. All around her alarms were screaming and lights were flashing. Fumbling she pulled the Emergency Release Handle to her left. The thick door of her cryo-pod swung open and Fry hit the metal deck of the main cabin with a grunt.<p>

The world felt like it was tilting crazily and the bright lights flashing and alarms blaring didn't help matters. She staggered to her feet wobbling and weak still from cryo trying to wrap her head around the situation.

She turned to the pod beside her, the ship's med-tech. There were half-a-dozen holes punched through his plexi-glass and inside the pod he was bloody and clearly dead. She quickly looked away supressing the urge to vomit. Fry staggered towards the next pod. Her face lit up when she saw the captain struggling awake.

"Cap'n…"

Before she could say much more than that there was a hissing popping sound and another ten or so small chunks of space debris whizzed through the captain causing instant death. With a horrified expression on her face Fry stumbled back from the cryo-pod and landed on her ass.

Another pod burst open and the ship's mechanic, Owens, tumbled out on top of Fry.

"Why did I fall on you?" he asked almost calmly, still disoriented by cryo-sleep.

He rolled off when Fry shoved at him.

"He's dead," Fry babbled panicking, "Cap'n's dead. Christ! I was looking right at him when—"

"Why did I fall on you? Chrono says we're 22 weeks out, gravity isn't supposed to kick in for another 19. I mean, why did I fall at all?"

"Didn't you hear me?" shrieked Fry, "Cap'n's dead! Doc too,"

"Oh no…dead? Like dead, dead?"

"Dead!"

"Fucking cryo," Owens muttered shaking his head as if to jolt it back into some kind of functionality.

Owens and Fry got a hold of themselves well enough that they were able to stumble into the Nav Bay and pull on their warm-up suits. Fry dropped into the pilot's seat and checked her screens.

"1550 millibars, dropping 20 MB per minute. Shit! We're hemorrhaging air! Something took a swipe at us," Fry said more focused at the controls.

Owens fiddled with a few of the switches for the Nav computer.

"Just tell me we're still in the shipping lane. Just show me all those stars. Those bright, beautiful, deep-space…"

Impatiently Fry slammed the button and brought up the exterior view. A planet rushed toward them with frightening speed.

"Jesus god…" she croaked.

"That's why we have gravity," Owens said detachedly.

Fry scrambled up from her chair in the Nav Bay onto the Flight Deck throwing herself down in front of the controls and pulling on a headset haphazardly.

Over the comms she could hear Owens.

"They trained you for this, right? Fry? FRY!"

Fry doesn't bother answering him. Yes, they'd trained her for this during flight school, in simulators, where there had been no danger to anyone or anything if she failed much less her own ass on the line. She was a rookie, had been on maybe twenty runs before shipping out with the Hunter-Gratzner and all of them had been smooth. Still, she moved with the surety of having repeated a motion over and over again and that had to count for something.

They'd entered the atmosphere now for sure, Fry could feel it in the way the ship shuddered and groaned, breaking atmo stripping it of its sensory antennas and other delicate pieces. After a few false starts she managed to get the crash shutters to open giving her a good view as they punched through cloud going way too fast.

"We're dropping serious altitude!" she shouted at Owens even though he could hear her perfectly fine through the com.

"…the crisis program picked planet number two of this system. It's reading with at least some oxygen and 1, 500 – would you SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

There was a crash on the other side of the com and the alarms stopped blaring even as Fry realized in a panic that the rough entry had jammed her flaps. She heaved a few times on the lever before turning back to the controls grimly flipping switches as she tried to think of something else to slow them down.

"1, 500 millibars of pressure at surface level. God damned computer did something right for a change," Owens continued more calmly, "This is an emergency transmission from merchant vessel Hunter-Gratzner en route to the Tangiers system with 40 commercial passengers on board. We've been knocked out of our shipping lane and entering a planetary body in the following position: X – Fry, where the hell's our coms?"

"Gone," she said shortly.

Fry flipped more switches dumping non-essential parts that hindered aerodynamics. Too fast. The ship was thrown into a roll and Fry could hear Owens cursing violently as he was tossed about. It took a minute but Fry managed to level them out.

The upper air-brakes finally deployed manually but they were still coming in nose up.

_Rate of descent beyond known limits._ The ship's computer told them in a pleasant female voice.

_Deploy lower air-brakes now._

_Deploy lower air-brakes now._

"Alright, we're showing no major water bodies, maximum terrain 220 meters over mean surface, largely cinder and gypsum with some evaporate deposits…"

_Centre of Gravity too far aft. Recommending purge ballast now. _

"Fry what are you doing?"

There was a new tremor of fear in his voice as the jettison doors hissed shut behind him cutting him off from the passenger compartment.

"Can't get my nose down, we're too heavy in the ass!" Fry replied teeth grit as she wrestled with the controls.

In the main cabin the jolting of the ship finally roused one of the passengers from their cryo-sleep within the pod. The man was tall, blond and obviously strong. He wiped urgently at his fogged plexi screen, his pod had been programmed to wake him if the one across from him was compromised in any way, and breathed a relieved sigh when he saw that the pod across from him was still functional. The words, _Lockout Protocol. No Early Release._ Flashed, flickering as bits and pieces were torn off the ship and power constantly re-routed itself. The man inside the opposite pod was illuminated briefly by the blue light. Tall, muscular, with his head shaved to stubble and small black goggles covering his eyes. The blond man categorized the restraints making sure they all held.

In the cockpit Fry jerked on one of the emergency jettison handles and the ship shook violently.

In the main cabin the blond man tumbled out of his cryo-pod.

"What the…was that a purge, Fry?" Owens demanded.

"I can't get my fucking nose down!" she screamed back at him as she jerked on the handle that sent the climate controlled cargo-bay tumbling.

In this cargo bay something woke at the sudden jolt and resulting tumble. It came fully awake all at once.

_DangerDangerDanger_

Those were the only thoughts in its mind as its guts twisted and it felt itself falling. Fear skittered along the black pushing prodding for weaknesses. Trying to run and failing. Trying to scream and having no sound form.

_DangerDangerDanger_

It couldn't see the danger but it could hear sirens blaring and the low groan and screech of tearing metal.

Then came the great crash, it felt the impact shudder through it snapping invisible locks. It was like coming in from and icy winter's day and jumping into a steaming hot shower. Painful pins and needles as its deadened nerves came awake and a slight burning sensation. It just got hotter and hotter until it felt it.

A droplet of liquid like a bead of sweat rolling off the end of its – _his _fingers.

Owens crouched down in the narrow passage between the flight deck and the Nav Bay watching as Fry reached for the third and final emergency jettison handle.

"Fry, what the hell are you doing?"

She jerked her hand away guiltily.

"I've gotta drop more load. I've tried everything else, I still got no horizon!"

"You try everything twice! We don't just flush out—"

"If you know something I don't, get up here and take the chair!" she snapped.

"Company says we're responsible for every single one of those people,"

"What, we both die out of sheer fucking nobility!"

"Don't touch that handle!" roared Owens backing back into the Nav Bay.

Fry watched the ground come closer and closer, her hand twitching. The ship jolted violently and Fry barely managed to keep them from going into another spin.

"I'm not going to die for them," she muttered jerking on the final handle.

Nothing happened so she pulled again, harder.

_Air-lock doors not secure. _The computer informed her patiently.

"Owens!" Fry screamed.

She whirled in her seat peering back down the tunnel between the flight deck and the Nav Bay to see that the mechanic had opened the jettison doors manually

"70 seconds, you still have 70 seconds to level this beast out," Owens informed her over the headset.

Actively sobbing now Fry swore and kicked at the jammed lever for the lower air brakes again, and again. It gave with a crunch under her boot, now useless, but the air brakes deployed and the ship leveled out skimming out of the clouds towards the sand below.

Fry watched in horror as one of the primary buffer panels pulled loose from the main body of the ship and shattered the windscreen. Air and dust whirled into the cockpit.

"What the hell was that?" Owens demanded.

A distant voice to Fry. The collision alarms started to blare and the pilot shoved her headset off, spun her chair around, tucked her head between her knees and braced herself.

The ship hit the earth like a skipped stone over a smooth pond. One shuddering crash followed by another, and yet another before the ship started to skid. As the bulk of the ship crunched and skittered the hull breached and in the passenger cabin cryo pods spilled out into the sand, trailing the ship like breadcrumbs, most of the poor souls within dead without even knowing it.

The one passenger who'd been popped out of his pod before impact clung to the empty cargo netting closing his cold blue eyes and hoped to god that the hull under his feet would actually stay there.

In the Nav Bay Owens was slammed against the ceiling.

The ship groaned to a halt finally and for a long minute all was silent. Dust and sand swirled not quite settled from the crash glinting in the partial sunlight streaming through the wrecked ends of the ship creating a yellowish haze.

The blond man came too first his ears ringing and bleeding freely from a knock on his head. He staggered over to the prisoner's pod. The plexi screen had been shattered and the prisoner was nowhere to be found. The man looked for his shotgun but was unsurprised to see it wasn't in the locker beside his pod with the rest of his stuff.

Behind him another few pods hissed open and people began calling for loved ones in English and Arabic.

"Zeke?"

"Imam!"

"Here, Shazza!"

A welding torch lit up as one of the survivors went to work on a mangled pod. After a few seconds the crushed door gave way and a sheepish looking youth in baggy clothes tumbled out.

"Something went wrong, didn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

The blond man ignored them all. He still had his cuffs and baton attached to his belt and he needed to recapture his prisoner before he managed to get too far. He moved out of the main cabin into the small maintenance corridor.

Gripping on to the pipe above him tightly the dark skinned prisoner, still in body chains and wearing the harsh metal bit, swung down and wrapped his legs around the blond man's neck. The man struggled futilely, one good wrench and his neck would snap leaving the prisoner free to escape. The blond man grabbed his baton and began beating at the prisoner's legs. Just as the prisoner found the leverage to deliver the final jerk the pipe he was clinging to gave and sent him and the blond man tumbling. The prisoner hit the deck head first, dazing him, and the blond man scrambled putting his baton flush against the prisoner's neck.

"Someone's gonna get hurt one of these days," said the blond man as if he hadn't just been struggling for his life, "And it ain't gonna be me,"

The blond man cracked the prisoner across the temple knocking him out. He removed the body chains so that he could cuff the other man to the bulkhead and tossed them aside.

He brought out his small flashlight and shone it down the maintenance corridor into the cockpit.

"Hey,"

"Hey, where?"

"Over here,"

The blond man shone his light and saw the petite blonde pilot pinned by her chair and a good load of sand.

"Got lucky there,"

"Yeah, lucky, could use a little help though," she grunted.

He set his flashlight aside and began digging her out.

"I'm Johns, by the way,"

"Carolyn Fry," she answered as she hit the flight deck and coughed on a bit of sand.

She crawled a bit away from her chair before letting Johns help her to her feet.

"Are there any others, Johns?" she asked hesitantly not really wanting to know.

"A few that I saw," Johns answered leading her through the small tunnel and into the Nav Bay where they could see the silhouettes of the people moving around just beyond.

Fry started digging through the wreckage to the right of the main Nav console and uncovered Owens lying still with a metal rod sticking out of his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered biting her lower lip and fighting tears.

She reaches out to touch him.

"Out, out, out! Get it out of me!" he screamed eyes popping open.

There was the tromp of boots on metal as the other survivors came running. They crowded around in the darkness of the Nav Bay and all clamored to be heard.

"Pull it out of him,"

"No, it's too close to his heart,"

"You've gotta do it just do it fast,"

Spurred on by the voices behind her Fry reached for the protruding rod.

"Don't you touch it! Don't you touch that handle, Fry!" Owens screamed.

Fry flinched away from him again.

"You'll kill him I'm telling you, shit, just leave it alone,"

"Delirious…"

"Dontcha got some drugs for this poor man?"

"Don't you touch that handle!" Owens screamed again.

"Alright, alright. Someone, there's some anestaphine in the med-kit back there," Fry said gesturing to the back of the passenger cabin.

"Not any more there isn't,"

Fry gaped at the sheer destruction of the back part of the hull and the sunlight streaming in for a long moment. Owens continued to scream in exquisite pain too far gone now for words.

"Get out. Everybody, just get out!" Fry ordered cradling Owens' head in her lap.

The survivors filed out, all except the boy who watched with a morbid sort of fascination until Johns doubled back and dragged him out by the scruff of his neck.

The survivors staggered out into the sunlight shielding their eyes against the light. It was like walking into a furnace. The only thing to see for miles in front of them was sand and rock. There were a few protruding spires not far in the distance and above all of it were two suns one red and one yellow beating down on the wasteland below.

"Our own little slice of heaven," said a short white man irreverently.

He was about forty, with receding brown hair wire rimmed spectacles and an air of lazy self-indulgence.

"Paris P. Ogleby by the way, pleasure to meet you all, damnable circumstances of course,"

The two rough looking prospectors a man and a woman, early thirties, with dark skin and work roughened hands nodded politely around the circle.

"I'm Shazza, this is my man Zeke," she said.

Zeke gave another perfunctory nod.

"I'm Jack!" piped up the boy with an easy grin straightening his hat over his short sandy brown hair.

"Johns,"

"I am called Imam, these are my boys Suleiman, Hassan, and Ali. Please, which way is it to New Mecca? We need to know the direction in order to pray," said the tall sturdy dark-skinned Chrislam.

Johns pulled a compass out of his belt but it just spun around wildly.

"Damn," he said snapping it shut.

The Chrislams, seeing as how no one knew which direction New Mecca was, prayed back to back, each of them facing a different compass point.

The screaming finally stopped.

"We should set up a search party, look for more survivors," Zeke said into the silence.

"Jack, you shouldn't climb up there!" Shazza said scaling the wreckage after the boy.

"Whoa," breathed Jack looking out behind the ship.

"Jesus…Zeke, Johns, you better come see this!" Shazza called.

The two men scrambled up the side of the ship joining the gaping duo up top, and their breaths caught at the scene of destruction laid before them and the long scar of destruction caused by the crash.

"Guess we won't be needing that search party, you have to be damn indestructible to survive that," said Johns.

"What's all the fuss?" asked Paris with a breathy wheeze as he hoisted himself up to join the group on the top of the ship.

He let out a low whistle when he saw the scar.

Moments later Fry joined them. Johns leant her a hand up.

"There was big talk of a scouting party…"

Fry's eyes widened as she turned and caught sight of the long smoldering gash their landing had made in the earth. At a glance anyone could see there would be no more survivors.

"…then we saw this," Johns finished.

There was a long silence where they just stared at the wreckage before Paris interrupted.

"Anyone having breathing problems? Aside from me?"

"Feels like I just ran," said Jack.

"Feels like we're one lung short all of us," Shazza commented.

"Well I tend towards the asthmatic and with all this dust…" Paris trailed off pointedly.

They all turned to Fry looking for an explanation and Johns noticed the reluctant way Fry stepped up to the plate. Like she didn't want to be the one in charge at all.

"It's the atmosphere of this planet, too much pressure not enough oxygen, it might take a few days to –"

"What the bloody hell happened, anyways?" Zeke interrupted.

"Something knocked us out of our lane, maybe a rogue comet. We might not ever know," Fry shrugged.

"Well I for one am thoroughly fucking grateful. This beast wasn't made to land like this but cripes, you rode her down," Shazza said with naked admiration, "C'mon you lousy ingrates, the only reason we're alive is a'cuzza her," she admonished the others.

All at once there was the low buzz of grateful murmurs that made Fry want to shut her eyes and squirm away.

"Suppose you're right. Thanks very much,"

"Yeah, thanks for saving our dicks,"

"No really, thanks awfully,"

"Well done,"

Fry shook her head unsmiling.

"Let's see what we can do about air, there are some pressure suits in the crew cabin," she suggested.

Fry, Zeke and Johns made their way back into the main cabin and dug around in the rubble until they found the locker with the pressure suits.

"Here we go. There are liquid oxygen canisters inside, start tearing them out. Quick hits only, we wanna try and make 'em last," Fry said handing the suits to Zeke who passed them off to Shazza and Jack.

"I'll see 'bout makin' this air go a bit further, cap'n. With your permission a'course," Zeke offered.

Fry started slightly at being called the captain and though shadows filled her eyes she didn't bother correcting Zeke.

"Do it," she said with a nod.

"So is someone coming for us? Or will we die of dehydration or exposure or maybe something even worse,"

The assembled gave the boy odd looks.

"You don't have to worry about scaring me," he assured them.

"Maybe, we're more worried 'bout you scarin' us, luv," said Shazza towing Jack along with her to the overhang created by the cracked hull of the ship and starting to rip the canisters out of the suits.

Zeke gave a faint grin and grabbing his tool belt started scrounging around in the maintenance area for supplies. Which left Fry facing another problem.

"Who's he?" she asked gesturing at the prisoner still strapped to the bulkhead.

"Big Evil. Name of Riddick," Johns answered.

"And we just keep him locked up forever?"

"That'd be my choice. Already escaped once from a triple max slam on –"

"I don't need his life's story. Just tell me, is he really that dangerous?"

"Only around humans," answered Johns with a lazy grin.

Fry stared at Riddick for a long moment then her eyes focused on the spot behind and to the left of his head.

"Oh, shit!" she swore as she watched water run down the side of the hull.

She dashed into the maintenance corridor grabbing up a flashlight on her way.

"What is it?" asked Zeke.

"The cistern is leaking," she snapped sticking the light through her belt loop and scrambling up the wall rungs into the crawlspace above.

"It might just be the pump, easy fix," Zeke assured her.

Fry flicked on the flashlight and fumbled one handed with the trap door to the cistern. Her heart sunk when she saw the daylight flooding through the breach in the hull into the mostly dry tank.

"Well, is it the pump?" asked Zeke.

"Ask if anyone has anything in cargo. Anything to drink!" Fry called back.

Zeke cursed and Fry heard the tromp of his boots as she shinnied out of the crawlspace and back into the maintenance corridor.

"Well, this just keeps on getting better and better," said Johns sarcastically.

"We've lost the water tank, anyone got anythin' to drink in their cargo?" asked Zeke.

"Plenty, if the packing survived," answered Paris.

"Let's go take a look," said Fry appearing into the daylight with Johns, "You guys stay here and try and get the oxygen working, 'kay?"

"Aye, cap'n," Shazza nodded not looking up from her fiddling.

"Anyone who needs anything from the cargo-bay we're headed that way now," Fry called to the Chrislams.

They began packing up their prayer mat but Paris, Fry and Johns saw no particular reason to wait for them and started across the desert towards the hulk of the climate controlled cargo-bay. It was only about a fifteen minute walk across the sand to the second compartment and together Fry and Johns had no trouble opening the jettison doors.

Johns swayed a bit on his feet.

"S'matter?" asked Fry urgently.

"Nothing, had a bit of the flu with the cryo-sleep never really got over it," he told her.

The cargo-bay wasn't anything exciting. A big room that had struck earth at an odd angle and stuck in the sand on a bit of a slant. There were forty or so smaller shipping containers with locks on the doors. Some of them had overturned and crashed into each other but most of them had remained secured to the floor.

"Ah, here's mine," Paris said with a pleased air pulling the key out of his pants pocket and opening the container's doors.

The door swung open to reveal a stack of tiffany chairs, and various ancient looking statues and smaller crates.

"King Tut's tomb..." Johns muttered.

"What in the blazes!" exclaimed Paris.

Johns reached for his weapon and Fry knelt down next to Paris to get a better look.

There leaning against the side of a crate was a pale young man with shaggy looking black hair dressed in a pair of loose pants and a set of chains.

"Jesus! A stowaway?" asked Fry.

"Get back, both of you,"

"He hardly looks dangerous," said Paris gesturing to the young man's glazed eyes and lolling head.

"He's in chains," Johns said firmly, "If he's in chains he's in them for a reason and I'm not about to take my chances with him,"

"Is anyone else wondering how the hell he even got here?" Fry asked.

There was no way the docking crew could have missed him during the pre-flight checks. It just wasn't possible.

"I had…but it's not…" Paris stammered running and hand through his thinning hair.

"Spit it out," Johns snapped.

"Well, I had a Terran statue, 21st century AD, white-marble, neo-roman, a young man, looking rather a lot like this one, in chains. There were only 20 found intact and they were considered so valuable because of their exquisite detail. They are incredibly lifelike,"

Johns snorted.

"No shit,"

"It looks like he's got cryo-sickness, or something like it," Fry said still watching the young man.

Paris wrinkled his nose.

"Best get him out of there before he damages something irreplaceable,"

Fry shot Paris a look that he pointedly ignored.

"Hey man, we're going to drag you out of there. Can you tell us your name?"

"M'nme," murmured the young man.

"Just stay back here," sighed Johns as he moved forward towards the slumped figure.

"M'nme…M'nme…m'name…" he muttered, not resisting as Johns grabbed him by his chains and literally dragged him out of the storage container.

Fry shined her flashlight into his eyes experimentally and the young man winced away from the light but his pupils contracted and dilated properly from what she could tell.

Then he rolled over and threw up.

"Yeah, he's real dangerous," Paris deadpanned moving into his little treasure trove.

"Well, he's definitely got some kind of cryo-sickness," Fry said turning him on his side, "You alright?" she asked.

"M'name's Harry," he told her before his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he passed out.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Alright guys, let me know what you think. Don't be shy, drop me a review or two! Here's hoping you all enjoyed!


	3. Chapter Two: Responsibility and Blame

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Two: Responsibility and Blame**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series, as such anything you recognize does not belong to me.

**Author's Note****:** Alright, first of all I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to review, alert or favourite. You guys rock! Now on to the story!

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><p>Imam and his boys walked into the cargo bay to find Fry and Johns still standing over the young man.<p>

"Who is this? A survivor?" he asked crouching down to examine his unconscious form more closely.

"Either he's a stowaway or a priceless bit of sculpture," Johns said annoyed.

"Sculpture?"

"Apparently, Paris had a sculpture that looked just like him," Fry said with a healthy dose of skepticism.

"In case any of you were wondering it isn't in here anymore, that statue, not even in pieces," Paris called from his position rummaging through his antique junk.

"How unusual," Imam made as if to touch the man.

"Don't," Johns warned, "This guy is chained up for a reason. I don't want anyone going near him 'til we find out what that reason is,"

"With all due respect, the man is clearly unconscious and not in any state to harm anyone, if indeed he ever intended to. Innocent until proven guilty," said Imam reaching down to put his wrist against Harry's forehead.

Johns tensed his hand twitching to the pistol at his belt as if he expected Harry to leap up and spring a surprise attack on Imam. But Harry remained unconscious and Imam only said "Hmm,"

"What is it?" asked Fry.

"He has no fever, in fact I would say he is colder than expected,"

"That won't last long in this bloody toaster oven," Paris commented.

"I think he has some sort of cryo-sickness, prolonged exposure maybe, I'm not a medic," Fry shrugged running a hand through her short blond hair.

"Here's the one!" Paris announced.

The assembled turned to watch as he opened up a painted sarcophagus to reveal it was stuffed with unmarked bottles.

"Well, at least it's not a total loss,"

"Booze. That's what you have to drink?" Fry said unimpressed.

"A two hundred year old single-malt scotch is to booze as foie gras is to duck guts,"

Johns picked up a bottle and unscrewed the cap eagerly.

"A toast to whatever the hell he just said," he said taking a swig.

"Ah, I'll need a receipt for that. For all this! This is my personal stuff!" Paris said looking rather like he'd like to snatch the bottle from Johns before he remembered the man was bigger, stronger, better trained and better armed.

"Top of my list," Fry said taking a gulp when Johns offered her a bit from his bottle, "I don't suppose it'll help you much," she added gesturing to Imam and his boys.

"Unfortunately it is not permitted, especially not while on Hajj,"

"You do realize there's no water," Johns pointed out taking another swallow.

"In a desert there is always water, it only waits to be found. I will however take this," he said picking up the sarcophagus lid and examining it critically, "The boys and I will take our friend here back to the crash site,"

"He's not our friend, I'll take him, chain him up with Riddick," Johns said standing.

Imam raised his eyebrows at Johns and pointedly looked around him down at Fry.

"With your permission captain, I will take responsibility for this young man,"

Fry chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully.

"Leave the chains on 'im otherwise, he's yours," Fry said with a nod.

"Thank you,"

"Don't turn your back on him," Johns advised a bit sourly.

"My friend, you have spent too much time searching out the evil in people, but there is good as well to be found in our race if we are only given the opportunity to show it," Imam told the blond man.

Johns snorted and took another swig from his bottle.

He gave a few orders to his boys in Arabic and together they made a makeshift sled out of the lid of Paris' faux sarcophagus and rolled the unconscious Harry onto it. They then proceeded to drag him back to the main crash site. Paris followed with a small load of luxury items, puffing and wheezing as his glasses slid down his nose.

Fry and Johns stayed behind to break open the other storage lockers hoping to find something more useful than Paris' contributions.

Jack was, predictably, the first one out of his seat when Imam and the boys appeared over the last sand dune.

"Who's he? Is he a survivor? Is he hurt? He doesn't look hurt. Did you guys find anything to drink?" he asked quickly.

"You may want to conserve your breath for breathing, young Jack," laughed Imam, mussing the boy's short hair.

Jack ducked out from underneath the preacher's arm and glared at him before turning his attention back to the man in the sled.

"He's in chains, like Riddick. Is he like Riddick?"

"We do not know," Imam answered pulling the sled into the shady overhang of the jagged hull, "This young man was found amongst Mr. Ogleby's things, perhaps he can tell you more,"

"Crikey, in the storage locker you found 'im?" Zeke asked.

"Miss. Fry, Mr. Ogleby, and Mr. Johns found him, yes. It is not clear where he came from,"

"Bloody hell," said Shazza, "Looks to be in rough shape,"

"Yes, he fell unconscious shortly after they discovered him," Imam agreed.

"I'll see what I can do 'bout a cot and some more clothes for 'im," Shazza said disappearing into the wreckage.

Imam dragged Harry on his sarcophagus lid back into what remained of the main cabin, so that his pale skin would be sheltered from the sun.

Riddick watched through the hole in his blindfold as the holy man knelt next to the new survivor on the floor. The survivor wasn't in his line of sight, but Riddick wasn't one to rely on sight.

Closing his eyes he inhaled, slow and deep.

He sifted through the familiar smells of the main cabin, nothing new there, metal and smoke. The holy man and the female prospector were excluded next as they puttered around the cabin setting up a makeshift bunk and talking in low voices. Cheap pine and sawdust, that didn't seem right, so probably whatever they'd been using to drag him around.

Sweat, vomit, stone, and static electricity and underneath all that…something spicy. Herbs. A kind of tea, maybe.

The preacher and the prospector grunt a bit as they lift him, but it's brief, he's light then. A teenager? Doesn't smell old certainly.

The prospector came into Riddick's line of sight and he tilted his head, just enough to get a good look at the new blood.

Riddick couldn't make out any colors through his eye-shine but he didn't need to. He could tell the man was young, not twenty-five yet at a guess, tallish maybe 5'11, slender and lean but every spare bit of flesh over his bones was muscle. A body well-honed, his loose pants hanging provocatively low on the juts of his hip-bones and riding up to reveal long boned feet and well-turned ankles. His shaggy dark hair covered his face but Riddick was almost positive he was handsome.

Also wrapped around that slender waist was an even more interesting sight. Chains that wrapped twice around him loosely like some sort of bizarre belt connected by another vertical hanging chain to a loop, something they could secure easy to the wall or floor. Then the chain forked leaving maybe a foot and a half of slack before finishing in an old-fashioned pair of manacles.

The sun glinted off the cuffs momentarily blinding him as the preacher tried to arrange him more comfortably. If he could have spoken he might have told the man it's impossible to sleep easy in chains.

Riddick closed his eye against the slight burn of the light. He'd seen all he needed to see.

The new blood was a puzzle, one he might solve for the fun of it, if he had time.

He waited until the preacher and the prospector went back outside, then, taking care to be quiet, he stood up pressing his spine against the beam behind him. Glad, for once, of the stupid metal bit in his mouth, Riddick raised himself up on his tiptoes and slowly begain to raise his arms. With a grunt of painand a sickening double pop he dislocated his shoulders then slowly raised them above his head through the small gap in the beam Johns thought he couldn't reach. With a shrug his shoulders popped back into place and he shuddered in relief even as he pitched himself forward grabbing the prospector's abandoned cutting torch on his way down.

In minutes the only evidence he was ever chained up were the heavy metal rings still locked around his wrists, the soreness in his shoulders and the bit he held in his hand. He stole the black welding goggles from the prospector's locker and quickly fitted them over his sensitive eyes.

He considered the still form of the new blood. Still out. No sense wasting time on getting him loose. He left the cutting torch in easy reach though, in case he got a lucky shot at his own freedom.

Then he slipped out through the broken windscreen in the cockpit and left the bit in the sand for Johns to find before doubling back around and heading in the opposite direction.

The whole thing practically screamed chase me, but the merc would take the bait because he wouldn't be thinking clearly, wouldn't want to lose his big payday.

Jack, bored of watching Zeke and Shazza fiddling with their bits of pipe, grinned when he noticed the smallish figure struggling up over that last dune. He jumped up and ran over to where Paris was struggling with a folding chair complete with umbrella, a folding side table and pockets full of expensive booze and cigars.

"Hey, I'll carry that if you tell me about the new guy," he bargained.

"You carry this, I'll tell you anything you want to know about anything," puffed Paris sweating profusely.

"Why'd you bring all this junk anyway?" asked Jack taking the folding table.

"If I'm going to be stranded on some godforsaken desert planet for lord only knows how long I am at least going to have my creature comforts,"

"Whatever, so tell me about the new guy!"

"Well, you've seen him already,"

"Yeah,"

"Well, it seems that I unknowingly purchased him whilst he was in some primitive form of cryo-sleep,"

"And in English that means what exactly?"

"I thought he was an ancient stature when I bought him, but he was just in cryo, better?"

"Sure," shrugged Jack.

"Good, now put that there," Paris instructed, "Climb to the top and I'm going to hand things up to you,"

"So if he was in cryo, how long has he been like that?"

"Oh, a few thousand years I should think. Keep a good grip on that, it's a very expensive, very rare type of whiskey,"

Jack rolled his eyes.

"So what's wrong with him? Why is he wearing chains?"

"Well, what's wrong with him, I certainly don't know. Our esteemed captain has diagnosed cryo-sickness. As too the chains, well, our resident lawman has diagnosed that he's a bad, bad man," Paris said clambering up the side of the ship and popping open his umbrella, "Yes, that should do nicely,"

"Jack?" called Shazza.

"Up here!"

The pretty woman came into view and squinted up at Paris' little haven. She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"Come down here a minute, Zeke and I think we've rigged something for the O2," she said jerking her head.

"Awesome," Jack said as he scrambled down the ladder.

"So this clips onto your belt there, then you loop that bit over your shoulder,"

"Like this,"

"Yep, good, now to take a hit, bite down and take a deep breath," Shazza instructed.

Jack fiddled with the nozzle a bit to get it just right and then took the hit. He grinned when he felt the small puff of metallic tasting air and all of a sudden he could breathe more easily.

"It works, this is great!"

"Don't use it all in one go, don't know when we're getting off this rock so we have to try and make things last,"

"No worries," he waved when he saw Fry and Johns cresting the dune, "Hey Fry, check it out!"

For the first time since the crash a ghost of a smile lit Fry's face.

"There you go, cap'n," Zeke said handing her an O2 rig of her own.

"This is great," said Fry taking a hit, "You guys did an amazing job,"

"This 'un's the brains of the operation, couldn't of done it without 'er," said Zeke coming up behind his partner and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Shazza gave him a pleased grin and tilted her head up for a kiss that Zeke obligingly gave.

"Uh huh, great work, where's Imam?"

"Over—"

Johns didn't bother waiting for her answer but shoved past Zeke into the wreckage of the ship.

"Rude much," Shazza grumbled.

"Shit!" came Johns' enraged yell.

There was a crash and seconds later the blue-eyed man went sprinting out of the ship towards the empty desert and the setting suns.

Fry had a good idea of what had set Johns off and she swore violently when a glance confirmed it.

"What's all the ruckus?" asked Paris, descending from his little perch.

"Riddick's escaped," Fry answered.

Jack gave a low, impressed whistle.

"How? We've been right here this whole time, someone would have seen him, or heard something," Shazza said.

"Not a chance, Riddick is way too good," crowed Jack.

"You do realize you're rooting for the man who would kill you without blinking?" said Paris.

"I know, he's awesome!"

"The other one's still out, that's something at least," sighed Fry.

Imam and the boys came jogging up.

"What has happened?" asked Imam, "We heard shouting,"

"Riddick's escaped," Paris told him.

Imam's face grew grave. Johns came striding back over the sand, Riddick's discarded bit clenched in his fist. He didn't come right out and blame Imam for Riddick's escape but it was clear from the dark look he shot the holy man that he thought he was responsible.

"Well?" demanded Fry.

"Found this, back that way, towards sunset. We need to gather up all the weapons we've got in this heap, arm up," Johns said urgently.

Spurred into action by Johns words the crash site and cargo bay became a beehive of activity as the survivors gathered up anything that could even remotely count as a weapon and brought them to the main cabin.

"I don't got any weapons, so I'll watch the statue-guy, make sure he doesn't escape," Jack piped up.

Fry and Johns exchanged a wry look.

Imam glanced at Harry's still limp and unconscious form.

"That would be very helpful, young Jack," he said with all due gravity.

Jack grinned and plunked himself down next to Harry studying him intently. Glad to have Jack occupied and out from underfoot the adults trekked back to the cargo-bay to gather up what weapons they could.

Once they were gone Jack scrambled to his feet revealing the discarded cutting torch and his grin took on a mischievous tilt.

He pulled the damaged welding goggles he'd fixed up with the torn edge of his shirt out of his pocket and slid them over his eyes. After a few false starts he managed to get the cutting torch going the way he'd seen Zeke and Shazza using it.

A bit hesitantly he picked up the slack length of chain that connected the manacles to the loops around Harry's waist. It only took a second and the old style chain split like butter underneath the torch. Jack tugged on the loose end and the chain, which was heavier than he'd expected, pulled free of Harry's body slowly. Jack winced as the chain dragged along the metal floor with a harsh scrape.

Harry's eyes blinked open slowly.

"What the fuck?" he slurred.

Jack jerked away from him like a skittish cat.

"Ah—" Harry put the heel of his hand up against his forehead, his head pounded and throbbed and his stomach churned threatening, "Bloody hell!"

"Hey," Jack piped up, "You gonna be sick or something?"

"Nothin' left to come up," he answered clearing his throat, "Any chance at some water?"

"Nope, we ain't got none," Jack shrugged.

"Bloody brilliant. Where in Merlin's name am I?" Harry asked looking around, taking in the extreme heat, and the ruined looking room before him.

"Well you were on the Hunter-Gratzner, on your way to the Tangiers system, Paris bought you cause he thought you were a statue, but we crashed so now you're stranded on some desert planet,"

Harry blinked a bit shocked.

"Huh," was all he could think to say, "What's your name?"

"I'm Jack,"

"Harry, nice to meet you,"

"C'mon we've gotta get you out of these restraints before the others get back so you can escape," Jack said remembering that he only had a certain amount of time before that happened.

He lit up the cutting torch.

"Whoa!" cried Harry jerking away, "Easy there, before you damage me beyond fixing. These cuffs come off easy when you've got outside help, all you need is a knife or a thin bit of metal,"

"Oh," said Jack looking a bit disappointed as he turned off the cutting torch.

He rummaged around the heaps of debris littered around the main cabin until he found a small bit of metal that seemed sharp enough.

"Like this?"

"It'll do," Harry said, sitting up with a wince.

He held out his wrists.

"Now, see this little crack here?"

"Yeah,"

"All you have to do is press the bit of metal straight down and wiggle it until you feel it click open, gently mind, you poke me with that thing I'll poke back,"

"Sounds easy, why haven't you escaped before this?" Jack asked as he deftly inserted the bit of metal into the first cuff fiddling a bit until he heard the click.

He winced in sympathy as the skin; rubbed raw and blistered in many places was revealed.

"Cause before this I was locked down in a bare underground cell, then I was entombed in stone," Harry answered matter-of-factly.

"What did you do?" asked Jack as the other cuff fell off.

Harry took a deep breath in and sighed in pure pleasure as he felt it, the last little bit of his magic flooding through his body as best as it could. The nausea, headache and pervading cold practically disappeared. Then Harry got a good sense of just how close he'd come to losing it all. His magic was almost gone, there was just barely enough in his inner well to keep him alive not even enough for a simple light spell but after a month of being cut off and able only to watch as it trickled away the sensation was heavenly. Better even than a cool glass of water in this furnace of a desert.

"What?" Harry asked shaking his head to clear it as he realized Jack had asked him a question.

"What did you do?" said Jack more slowly, "To get all chained up I mean, did you kill somebody?"

"Oh, uh, it wasn't so much what I did as what people thought I would do if they left me alone," Harry said vaguely not wanting to get into the particulars of horcruces, possession, and black magics with a muggle boy.

"So you're like a terrorist?"

"Not exactly, it's complicated,"

"So make it simple,"

Harry sighed prodding at his wrists to see how much damage was done, buying some time to think of a good answer.

"There was this civil war and while I fought on one side, I knew lots of things about the leader of the other side. How he got his power, his following, why he thought what he thought. It was part of my job. After it was all over though the new government got scared that I would use what I knew and they would have another war on their hands. So they locked me up forever, I guess I should be grateful they didn't just kill me outright,"

"Oh," said Jack.

Harry chuckled a bit as he stood and stretched.

"Preemptive imprisonment not bad enough for you? What, you were hoping I'd slaughtered a bunch of people?"

His shoulder and spine popped gratifyingly and he cracked his neck before tucking his hair behind his ears and flicking his fringe out of his eyes. Gods he needed a haircut that was going to get annoying very fast.

"What'd you get so many for?" asked Jack side-stepping Harry's question.

"These?" said Harry running a finger down the shell of his ear and the eight simple silver balls that dotted it.

"Yeah," said Jack.

"It's a memorial for the good people I knew, my friends and family, who died in the wars, one for each, sixteen all told,"

"Did it hurt?"

Not so much as the loss had.

"A bit," he answered neutrally, "Any chance of getting some clothes?"

"Sure," Jack said handing him the white button down, socks and boots they'd scrounged from the crew cabin, "Shazza and Imam found these, they think they might fit,"

"Who do I have to thank for them?"

"The medic, dunno his name, but he's dead so it's not like he needs 'em," Jack said with a shrug.

Harry raised an eyebrow but slipped into the shirt and shoes without further comment. The shirt was a bit big and Harry had to roll up the sleeves but with the thick socks the boots were a near perfect fit.

"How do I look?" he asked twirling slightly for Jack.

"Like you're dressing up in your dad's clothes," he said.

"Par for the course," shrugged Harry.

"You talk so weird, like I understand the words but sometimes you make no sense,"

"Sorry," shrugged Harry.

He tore off the hanging tail of the shirt and tucked the ragged edge into the back of his pants. He then tore that into two strips and wrapped them carefully around his damaged wrists.

"You really should escape now," Jack told him, "The others are going to be back soon with the weapons,"

"Er…why are you so keen that I escape?"

"Well the other guy we had chained up, Riddick, he escaped earlier while no one was paying attention so if you stay they'll probably attack you or try to chain you up again, Johns doesn't like you," Jack explained.

"Er…right then, brilliant, better hide these then," Harry muttered throwing the Binding Chains into a pile of debris rather more forcefully than was probably necessary, "What was this Riddick chained up for?"

"He killed a bunch of people and when they finally caught him, he escaped from Butcher's Bay, that's a triple max slam!" Jack exclaimed the admiration clear in his voice.

"Slam is like, a prison?" Harry frowned.

"Yep,"

"Wonderful,"

"So what are you going to do?" Jack demanded.

"Wait for your friends to get back and tell them I come in peace," Harry answered, "By the way what year is it? I forgot to ask earlier,"

"1865 AE,"

"AE?"

"After Earth, it started off being ADE for after departing Earth but that was too confusing in the beginning, so they changed it,"

"Merlin's beard," Harry whistled, shocked.

"When're you from?"

"2003 AD," Harry answered.

"Cool!" Jack exclaimed, "You're like, actually ancient,"

"Thanks," said Harry dryly.

"What the fuck is he doing unchained?" came the sudden angry interruption.

Moving without thinking Harry put himself between Jack and the angry blond man that stormed into the main cabin.

"Johns!" someone called out in protest.

A woman with long dark hair and a sort of fierce beauty, Harry noted her in her peripheral as a potential ally before turning his attention back to Johns.

In the time it took Johns to stalk over Harry had already decided on how he was going to disarm the man and thought of three ways to kill him if that didn't work out.

"Calm down, I'm not here to hurt anybody," he snapped back putting his hands above his head and shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to move if Johns went for the weapon at his belt.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> I love writing Jack! Just had to put that out there.

Alright guys, as always drop me a review and let me know what you think of this latest installment!


	4. Chapter Three: Threats, Graves, Death

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Three: Threats, Graves and Death**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series.

**Author's** **Note: **Alright, here we are again. First of all I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favourited. You guys are the ones that keep me cranking out the updates! Now on to the story!

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><p>Jack poked his head out from behind Harry.<p>

"He's not even a _real_ criminal," he told Johns.

Harry half-smiled, half-grimaced.

"For some reason I feel like I should be insulted," he said dryly.

"You're looking much better, my friend," said a black man in traditional Arab garb stepping forward into Johns' space.

The blue-eyed blond scowled at the holy man.

"Yeah, once I got the chains off him he just popped back up," Jack said.

The assembled shot him a look.

"Just how long have you been free?" demanded Fry.

"Maybe, twenty minutes," Harry said taking a wild guess.

"Pretty much since you left," Jack added.

"Jack, luv, you're diggin' yourself into a nice big hole," Shazza told him.

"Alright, I think we got off on the wrong foot because of the whole chain thing. So hi, I'm Harry, Harry Potter, and I promise I'm not about to go around attacking and killing people, nice to meet you all,"

"I'm Zeke, this 'ere is Shazza,"

Harry took in the broad shoulders, no-nonsense expression, and possessive arm wrapped around the fierce beauty's waist and took it for the warning it was.

"Good to meet you," Harry said with a nod.

"Whatever, in case you all forgot we have a murderer on the loose," Johns barked impatiently.

He strode over to an overturned cry-pod, using it as a table and set down a big black case. Stripping out of his blue uniform shirt he started strapping on a Kevlar vest over the white undershirt he wore beneath it and loading up his weapons.

"That's Johns," Jack stage whispered.

"I'd figured," Harry said in a normal voice.

"I am Imam, and these are my boys, Suleiman, Hassan and Ali,"

Harry said hello in Arabic and the boys lit up like little Christmas trees and began to chatter at him excitedly. After a bit they fell silent, waiting for a response.

"Sorry guys, that's all I got," Harry said with a sheepish shrug.

Imam chuckled.

Just then Paris staggered in, sweating profusely and carrying a shield over one arm and a few sickles on sticks.

"Jesus Christ, what is he doing without chains?" asked the antique dealer nervously, "Have we just decided to give up on the whole chain up the dangerous people concept? Don't I get a vote?"

"That's Paris, he's the one that bought you," Jack said moving over to Zeke and Shazza to investigate their haul.

"Er…thanks, I guess," said Harry.

"Yes, well, one of twenty intact, very rare, early 21st century AD, how could I resist?" Paris said clearing his throat nervously and pushing his glasses more firmly up his nose.

Harry gave Paris a sharp glance. One of twenty?

"What the hell are these?" Johns demanded fingering a sickle.

"Maratha crow-bill war picks from northern India. Very rare," Paris answered.

"An' this?" asked Zeke plucking an oddly shaped stick out of Paris' overburdened arms.

"That is a blow-dart hunting pipe from Papua New Guinea. Very, very rare, since the tribe is now extinct,"

"Cuz they couldn't hunt shit with this would be my guess," Zeke said tossing the pipe aside with sufficient force to make Paris wince.

"Well, what's the need anyway?" Paris demanded with a tired huff, "If the man is gone, he's gone, why should he bother with us?"

"He can only survive out there for so long, eventually he'll be back to take what we got. Other than that? Maybe he'll work your nerves, toy with you. Skull-fuck you in your sleep,"

Paris blanched.

"Sounds like a charmer," Shazza commented sarcastically.

"No need to look so nervy, Paris, you're not nearly pretty enough for anyone of discerning taste," Harry said grinning wickedly and clapping him on the shoulder companionably.

This assurence only seemed to frighten Paris more

"Yes, well, he's a criminal, who says his taste is at all discerning?" the antiquities dealer commented taking a long swallow of scotch.

"Riddick's a serious badass," Jack said.

"And again, I feel like I should be doing something to prove my own badassery, weird that," Harry said grinning.

"Badassery is not a word," Jack retorted.

"What exactly happened to you?" Fry interrupted.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name,"

"Carolyn Fry, I'm the cap'n of this heap," she said shaking his outstretched hand firmly.

"Well captain, I worked intelligence during a civil war and when it was all over my government decided that with all my newfound knowledge I was too dangerous to leave alive, so they entombed me in living stone, supposedly forever," Harry explained.

"So, how come you got loose?" asked Jack.

"I helped design the method of imprisonment for prisoners of war. We didn't want to arbitrarily execute the opposition but there were jailbreaks every other week, we needed a better way to hold them. So we came up with this method, living stone. I wasn't part of the manufacture but the gist of it is the stone is unbreakable and all consuming, the only way to release a prisoner without the proper antidote is to overcome the unbreakability component without actually breaking the stone, then the whole structure is very vulnerable to heat," Harry tried to explain.

Fry was nodding, so he must have said something that made sense.

"So the force of the crash overcame the force limits for unbreakability, miraculously without breaking you, and then the heat of this place reversed the freezing process," she said.

"Sounds right," Harry nodded.

"That's interesting; you got over the cryo-sickness pretty fast too,"

"I've always been a quick healer," Harry said with a shrug and a disarming grin.

They were getting way too close to the something-is-not-right-about-this-guy discovery, so Harry turned the topic back to the danger of the hour.

"So you're going after this guy, Riddick?"

"That is one of our purposes, yes, but we also go in search of water, food," Imam explained, "We are stranded here with very little in the way of supplies, and no hope of a quick rescue,"

"It'll take another twenty-two weeks for anyone to start missing us; even then the search parties might not find our trail in the debris left by the comet. We weren't able to get a message out before we lost coms," Fry told him.

"So, to summarize, we've got little food, no water, no hope of rescue, and a serial killer on the loose," Harry said.

"That just about covers it, yes," agreed Paris taking a swig of scotch from the bottle in the pouch at his hip.

"Fun times," Harry deadpanned.

Johns shut his, now mostly empty, big black case and, scope in hand, stalked outside. Everyone followed him out into the desert and Shazza began helping the Chrislam boys set up their breathers.

"What are those?" he asked Zeke.

"Breathers," Zeke answered, "Too much pressure, not enough O2. S'not botherin' you?"

"No, not really," Harry shrugged, but with his magic humming through his body like a live wire Harry didn't really expect it to.

Magic was useful like that; he probably wouldn't be hungry or thirsty for awhile either.

"Huh, lucky bugger,"

"Imam!" called Fry adjusting her breather with one hand and carrying one of Paris' war picks in the other, "We should leave now, before nightfall, but while it's still cool," she gestured to the suns, one red and one yellow, lying low on the horizon.

Imam waved back in agreement.

"What, you're goin' off, too?" Zeke said, dismayed.

"Johns is leaving you a gun. Just do me a favor? Bury my crew. They were good boys who died bad,"

"A'course, cap'n,"

"Let me guess, she hasn't had this job very long," Harry commented to Zeke raising an eyebrow.

"She saved all our lives, show a bit of gratitude," Shazza snapped.

"Hn," grunted Harry ambiguously.

There were some things you didn't do as a leader, leaving others to bury your men was one of them. He would rather think that Fry was an inexperienced newbie bluffing her way through the situation than think she was just a terrible captain. He didn't bother trying to explain this thought process to Shazza, no sense inviting a fight.

"Imam! Imam!" called Suleiman waving to where the holy man was praying over the three dead bodies wrapped up in a blue tarp that seemed unnecessarily colorful in the constant brown of the desert.

The whole group rounded the ship and saw. Something…

"What the bloody fuck is that?" asked Zeke squinting off into the distance.

"Bloody oath…" murmured Shazza.

"Three suns?" said Jack staring wide eyes at the rising blue star.

Harry felt more than a bit gob-smacked at the sight before him.

"So much for your nightfall theory," Zeke said to Fry.

Fry was staring at the blue sun with a kind of fascinated horror.

"So much for my cocktail hour," Paris said a bit grumpily taking another swig of his scotch.

"This definitely takes first place in my top ten weirdest experiences of life," Harry said, "And I've had some seriously weird experiences,"

"We take this to be a good sign," Imam said as close to giddy as any of the survivors had ever seen him, "A path, a direction from God. Blue sun, blue water,"

"An' people wonder why I'm an atheist," snorted Zeke.

Johns swung down from his lookout position on top of the ship, making Paris jump in surprise.

"A very good sign," Johns said agreeing with Imam for the first time in Harry's experience, his bad mood evaporating as if it had never been, "That's Riddick's direction, and trust me, you don't wanna be caught in the dark with this guy,"

"I thought you said you found his restraints out that way, towards sunset," frowned Fry.

"I did, which means he headed that way towards sunrise," Johns explained.

"Yeah, unless of course he's reversing your reverse psychology on you," Harry pointed out.

Johns ignored him.

"Zeke," Johns handed the burly dark skinned prospector his pistol, "Full clip, safety's on, you spot him you take the shot,"

"Just putting this out there, what if Mr. Riddick spots us first?" Paris asked leaning heavily on his war pick.

"Then there'll be no shots," Johns said with a hunting grin, "C'mon people, let's move!"

Fry, Johns and Chrislams started moving at a fast walk.

"S'bad luck to watch'em go, c'mon," Zeke said steering the rest of them back around the crashed ship.

"No sense inviting failure, since if they don't find water out there they're screwed, and we're screwed three times sideways," Harry sighed running a hand through his hair.

Sweat made it stick up even worse than usual.

Zeke looped an arm around Shazza's shoulders and gave her a slight squeeze, whether for his own comfort or hers Harry couldn't tell. Without Johns and Fry around the tension had ratcheted up a few notches. Real or not their apparent control over the situation had in fact comforted the survivors.

"I'll just take lookout, shall I?" said Paris not waiting for an answer before scrambling up the side of the ship and back to his shady spot under the umbrella.

"C'mon, Jackie, luv, let's go see what we've got in the rest of the lockers," Shazza said giving Zeke a quick peck under the jaw before ducking out of his embrace.

"Don't call me Jackie, that's such a girl's name," grumbled Jack following her into the wreckage.

"Guess we best get these men buried," Harry said gesturing to the tarp.

Zeke grunted and stuck a pickaxe through his belt and the pistol against the small of his back.

"There're some cables in the Nav Bay I wound up earlier," Zeke said.

With a nod Harry slipped into the ship, it took him a few minutes to find the cables Zeke was talking about, not knowing where the heck the Nav Bay was, and when he reappeared Zeke had the bodies lashed to a largish jagged section of the broken hull. There were also a few metal poles and another pickaxe, resting on top of the tarp.

Seeing what Zeke meant to do Harry threaded the cables through the punctured metal with enough slack that he and Zeke could make a joint effort at dragging the sled to the burial site.

"Where should we bury them?" asked Harry.

"Thought 'bout up there, by them spikes, nothing else'd serve as a grave marker in this place, an' there might be some shade," Zeke answered.

"Not too far out, we'd be within line-of-sight of the ship," Harry nodded, "'Specially with our diligent look-out up there," he continued loud enough for Paris to hear.

Paris waved at them languidly munching on what looked like caviar.

"Comfy up there?" Zeke asked scornfully.

"It's amazing how long you can endure without the essentials as long as you have life's little luxuries," Paris replied taking a sip of what looked like wine.

Apparently he was mixing it up.

"You do know the lookout is always the first one to get killed, don't you?" Harry commented with a grin.

Behind him Jack made his move, slipping his hunting boomerang against Paris' throat. Paris went white as a sheet and whimpered.

"He'd probably get you right here, right under the jaw. And you'd never even hear him coming. 'Cause that's how good Riddick is," Jack said.

Paris visibly relaxed easing the blade of the boomerang away from his jugular.

"Why even bother with the throat?" Harry queried a wicked grin tilting his lips, "Knife to the top of the spinal column. Kills soundless and almost bloodless if you leave it in there. No muss, no fuss,"

Paris blanched gratifyingly again.

"Jack! You find that hammer?" called Shazza from the interior of the ship.

"Just a sec, I'm tormenting Paris!" Jack called back.

"Well do it later, I need you to hold this for me,"

Jack slipped out of view, presumably sliding down the other side of the wreck.

"I'd see him coming, wouldn't I, he couldn't sneak across all that desert without my seeing him, could he?" Paris demanded.

"Just keep your bloody eyes open. Don't want that ratbag sneakin' up on me bloody ass," Zeke snapped.

"That's hardly comforting,"

"Wasn't meant to be, c'mon 'Arry, let's get on,"

They each grabbed a handle of the makeshift sled and began pulling it across the sand. It moved nice and easy and with the two of them working together it didn't take long to reach the crest of the hill atop which the spires sat.

"You're stronger than you look," Zeke complimented when they reached what they thought was a good spot.

"Thanks," laughed Harry, "You're no slouch yourself,"

Moving in concert they got a good divot going.

"So, how long have you and Shazza been together?" Harry asked.

"Comin' up on six years now," Zeke answered breathing heavily and taking a few hits from his breather.

"Here, take a bit of a break, don't want you fainting on me," Harry said noticing the big man's fatigue.

"S'not fair," Zeke protested.

"I'm not having as much trouble breathing, I'll take a rest for a minute when you've recovered, in the mean time tell me about how you two met,"

"Shazza was maybe sixteen when I joined 'er Daddy's crew in the free settlement out on Pleiades Nine. I'd been a bushwacker on Peony a'fore it got all clogged up with people. Didn't know jack shit 'bout mining but I was handy and had a strong back an' was used to roughin' it so they snapped me up. Had a bit of a flirty with 'er but didn't think anything would come from it. Then I got caught out in an acid storm, mist frosted me 'air pretty good a'fore I got me helmet on, melted off a few patches of me skin, too," he pulled up his pant leg to reveal the scars from the terrible chemical burning, "Took shelter in a cave, went out of my head with fever. Took 'er three days to find me, everyone else told 'er she was barkers, that I was long gone. Found me though. When I came to she told me I was the only one for 'er and I was damn well gonna live 'til she was old enough to marry me proper,"

"Did she? Marry you, I mean," asked Harry not having noticed a ring or any other indicator of their married state.

Zeke shrugged.

"Handfasted on 'er nineteenth birthday, never really got around to having the actual ceremony, but we've been official, like I said, for six years now," Zeke shrugged, "Take that break now, I'm gonna set the tarp up. There's some drink there, too, 'elp yourself,"

"Nah," Harry said climbing out of the hole and blotting up his sweat with his shirtsleeve, "I can't hold my booze at all, I completely lose my shit and that is something we don't need right now,"

Zeke grunted a response and began to hammer the four tall metal posts he'd brought with them into the ground and string the tarp up between them to create a sun-shade.

"What about you? Anyone special a'fore all this shit went down?"

Harry shrugged a bit thinking of Julien.

"No one I'd spend the rest of my life with, but before the government started hunting me I had a lover,"

"What was 'er name?"

"His name was Julien, French, blond, pretty much the most attractive male ever," Harry grinned.

Zeke grunted again, this time in surprise, and took a hit off his breather.

"Wouldn't have pegged you for sly, don't seem the type,"

"Sly means, I like to sleep with and do other more fun things with males rather than females, right?" sighed Harry trying to decipher the slang.

Zeke laughed a bit.

"That's right. 'Ere come outta the suns, you're gonna turn a pretty red color if you stay in it much longer,"

Harry grimaced, that's just what he needed a sunburn on top of everything else. He poked his arm and sure enough it was already turning pink. He hefted his pickaxe and moved to join Zeke under the tarp and they continued their digging.

"That'll do it I think," Zeke said with a nod.

"Six feet under," Harry said with a humorless little chuckle.

Zeke hauled himself out of the communal grave and gave Harry a hand out. With Harry's smaller stature he had a hard time climbing up the side of the hole by himself. Zeke tossed his pickaxe aside and stretched.

He looked over towards the crash site and saw Shazza, her eyes shaded by her hand squinting up at him. Involuntarily he grinned and waved.

Harry grinned two behind Zeke's back as he watched Shazza wave back at her man. He was almost certain that if he could see her mouth from so far away that the same silly lovestruck smile would be gracing it.

"You've got it so bad," Harry laughed once Shazza had disappeared back inside the crashed ship.

"You say it like it's a bad thing, mate,"

They turned back to their task, smiles fading into grim teeth clenching. Together they rolled the three bodies of the crewmen they'd never met off the sled and into the grave.

"You wanna say somethin'?" Zeke asked glancing at Harry.

Harry shrugged.

"Like what? I didn't know them,"

"I dunno, anythin', seems like we should be sayin' somethin' at least,"

Harry thought about it a bit while Zeke looked away from their still forms uncomfortably.

"Thanks for getting us this far guys, I'm sorry you had to go out like this, but I hope whatever's waiting for you is better than anything you had here," Harry eventually said.

Zeke shot him a look.

"What? I'm not a preacher and their immortal souls have already been blessed six ways from Sunday by Imam and his boys," said Harry defensively.

Zeke shook his head a bit and looked out, back towards the ship.

"Paris left 'is post, the little bugger,"

Harry squinted in that direction and noticed that Zeke was right. He scanned the area for the cause.

"Do you see that?"

Zeke looked to where Harry was pointing and saw the tan skinned bald figure moving slowly along the front of the ship.

"Shazza!" exclaimed Zeke before taking off down the hill at a dead sprint.

Harry swore and took off after the bigger man.

Unburdened and full out sprinting it took them a few minutes to get within range of the wreck. They could see Shazza between the bald man and the entrance to the ship her war-pick raised to strike. Zeke pulled Johns' pistol out of his belt and cocked the safety off and took aim.

"Don't!" cried Jack loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Wait!" Harry shouted at Zeke.

The prospector's hand jerked and the shot went wide. The bald man fell.

"Oh, shit!" snapped Zeke as they covered the last few metres to the ship.

"He's just a survivor, just another survivor!" Jack exclaimed distressed.

"I thought it was 'im! I thought it was Riddick!" Zeke cried out looking horrified.

On the ground the bald man jerked and coughed spewing blood all over the sand. Harry slid in the sand a bit as he dropped to his knees in front of the survivor and turned him on his back. The man was probably in a mess load of pain between the jagged rips in his shins to the badly burnt left side of his body. It was a minor miracle the man hadn't gone into shock and died long before now.

"Bullet's still in there and it looks like you hit a lung," Harry said.

"Shit!" Zeke swore again running a hand through his silver-tipped hair.

Harry moved so that the man was propped up against him in a reclining position. One arm crossed in front of his shoulders to keep him from pitching forward. The man gasped and sputtered apparently hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey! It's alright, calm down, everything's going to be alright," Harry murmured soothingly in the man's right ear.

Amazingly the man began to calm, breathing slower if not easier.

"Can you tell me your name?" Harry asked gently.

"R-uch-ah-Rueban," he choked out.

"Listen to me Rueban, I need you to calm down. I'm going to fix it, okay? I just need you to breathe and think of the most peaceful place you've ever been, just close your eyes and remember that place. It'll all be over soon," Harry crooned.

The survivor relaxed into Harry's hold and with a lightning quick motion Harry brought his hands up to the sides of the man's head and snapped his neck. The crack seemed impossibly loud and then everything was silent.

"Oh, my god!" exclaimed Paris after a beat, "You killed him! You just…"

"He was dead anyway," snapped Harry easing himself out from under the fresh corpse.

Shazza took a shuddering breath and nodded in agreement.

"Woulda drowned slow in his own blood, it was a piece of mercy,"

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Bloody fuckin' 'ell!" Zeke said thickly, "I killed 'im, I shot 'im. I just—"

Harry shook his head.

"No, Zeke, he was already dying, he just didn't know it yet," he hiked up the remains of the man's shirt and rolled him over to expose the bit of shrapnel sticking out of his lower back and the brown-red stain spreading just under his skin.

"Bloody hell," Shazza said, "It's like the whole universe ganged up to try and kill this guy,"

"He was bleeding internally, it was only a matter of time," Harry said.

Zeke nodded but he still looked pale and shaken.

Reclining slightly in Paris' lounge chair under his umbrella helping himself to his expensive sherry, Riddick watched as the scene unfolded below. He was intrigued by the new blood. He had the killing touch. No hesitation, just a snap, and the deed was done. Efficient, quick. A dangerous, fascinating puzzle.

Almost regretfully his eyes moved from the slender killer to the burly prospector, coming to rest on the breather at the man's hip covetously. He'd moved through the desert for twice as long as the rest of them without one and his lungs were feeling the strain. He couldn't afford to be that weak, not with Johns still hunting for him.

Riddick doubted the distraction the pretty little pilot with the self-serving streak provided would hinder Johns over-much. The merc took what he wanted and he wanted Riddick, alive, so he could get his big payday. Nothing and no one had ever hindered the man in pursuit of his money and this time it wouldn't be any different.

Almost of their own accord Riddick's eyes slid back to the new blood. Just in time too, his shoulders had gone stiff, he knew he was being watched. Riddick was just able to duck out of sight before he spotted him.

Sloppy.

The lack of air was clearly getting to him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Who here really believes it's the _lack of air_ getting to Riddick? Anyone? Anyone? Didn't think so.

Okay, so I'm going to take a minute to answer some **questions I've been asked in reviews**. If you don't feel you need to read this part feel free to just skip down to the end of the page and leave a review of your own *winks*

First off, on the subject of **Harry's magic**. Harry is still a wizard, he will still be able to use spells when he recovers some of his magical strength. I'll leave it at that and let you guys speculate.

**Jack** is a girl pretending to be a boy.

The **people who die in this fic** may or may not be the same people who died in the movie, if they do die it might not be at the same time or in the same way as in the movie. Really all bets are off as far as character death is concerned. The only thing you can really know is that people will die.

The **other 19 statues**, are definitely going to be important eventually and yes they are of 'other' Dark Wizards who weren't killed in the war. That's all I'm saying about that.

On the subject of Harry speaking **parseltongue** to the bioraptors, it'll play a minor role and the extent of it's usefulness will probably be examined in the next chapter.

Speaking of, does anybody have an objection to my not calling the creatures bioraptors? It's not a bad name and kudos to the author who coined it, love your fic, but it just doesn't strike me as very descriptive of the characteristics of the creatures. *Shrugs* let me know what you guys prefer.

Alright, that about wraps it up. As always leave a review, tell me your thoughts, 'cuz I love hearing them.


	5. Chapter Four: Eat Your Face Off

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Four: Things That Will Eat Your Face Off**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the short chappie and any mistakes. Posting this in a rush, will edit later tonight. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and faved!

* * *

><p>Harry stiffened, tensing as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a tingle crept down his spine. His head snapped up eyes flicking to Paris' lookout post.<p>

Nothing. Not even a fleeting shadow.

"What is it?" asked Jack, "What'd you see?"

"'Arry?"

He ignored them except to shush them with a wave of his hand. Something was watching them. Or someone. Harry had been stalked and hunted enough that he knew when someone was following him.

"Stay here," he said probably more sharply than necessary.

Moving quickly across the sand on light, silent feet Harry circled the wreck. His eyes scoured the shadows and crevices of the ship and his ears strained for any sound that would alert him to his stalker's position.

Jack was right to praise this Riddick.

He moved like a ghost, leaving no trail, making no sound, but Harry could still feel the man's eyes moving over his body, tracking his motion, taking stock.

Harry couldn't have said just what the man saw but he shivered slightly under the sheer intensity of his focus.

Harry waited, but the feeling didn't dissipate, nor did Riddick take the bait and attack. Eventually Harry just gave the landscape one last searching look, letting the man know that he knew he was out there, watching, and went back to the others.

"Well?" demanded Shazza as he rounded the corner of the ship rejoining the group.

She was rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold. Zeke was watching her closely, his fingers twitching as if trying to perform the familiar action of wrapping an arm around her and tucking her against his body his brain's consent be damned. Self-disgust flared in the burly prospector's eyes. Harry had seen this in the war, first time killers feeling so contaminated by what they'd done that they cut themselves off from their loved ones. Refusing to touch them or sometimes even go near them. Harry would have to nip this in the bud somehow. Whatever Zeke's feelings on the matter, Shazza needed him to hold her.

"I didn't find anything concrete, but I'm almost certain we're being watched," Harry said.

"Oh, dear lord, didn't the captain and Mr. Johns leave to find this chap? Why do we have to be the ones to deal with him?" Paris exclaimed his eyes darting nervously from side to side.

"Calm down you idiot,"

Everyone tensed up at those words. Harry heaved a mental sigh and tried again.

"I'm serious, just cool it," there, a phrase that had no association with recent acts of homicide, "Riddick, if it is Riddick, is waiting for the right moment. Until that moment comes, we're safe," Harry said.

"How can you know that for sure?" Paris demanded.

"I offered him my throat on a silver platter," Harry told them with a shrug, "I stood alone, out of the distance where any of you could help, weaponless, with my back turned to the man and I'm still alive. Despite what Johns keeps saying I don't think this guy is in it for the thrill, otherwise what's stopping him?"

"This is gettin' to be too much shit," Zeke commented scraping a hand through his hair again.

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch and then you die," Harry said with a fluid shrug examining the corpse they'd wrapped up while he'd been running around flashing an invisible neon kill me sign at a murderer, "You want the head or the legs?" he asked looking up at Zeke.

"I beg your pardon!" sputtered Paris.

"We're going to have to carry him up to the burial site," he explained with mocking slowness.

"Should we really leave 'em here alone?" Zeke asked his hand twitching again as he glanced at Shazza.

"I don't think they have anything to worry about, they've been out here alone with him around for Merlin only knows how long and they're all breathing,"

"That is a less than comforting thought," Paris said.

"Don't worry; now that we've disproved your usefulness as a lookout you should be completely safe,"

Harry believed it too. If a mostly dead survivor not trying to be quiet could sneak past Paris then there was no way in hell the man would spot Riddick unless he wanted to be spotted.

"I dunno, 'im aside, I don't like the idea o' leavin' Shazza n' Jack unprotected," Zeke said.

"I can take care of myself," Jack protested.

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should have to," Harry told him, "No need to get ruffled feathers,"

"Well I don't know about the rest of you but as much as I dislike having a corpse around I'm rather more averse to becoming one myself. I think we should all stay here and wait for the captain and Johns to return," Paris put in.

"And what if they don't come back?" Shazza demanded annoyed, "They don't find water out there and they could die a'fore they even make it back 'ere,"

"Look, Zeke leave Shazza the gun, they can hole up together inside. You and I will make better targets alone and unarmed out by the spires. Lure his interest,"

"An' still leave 'em alone back 'ere, I don't like it,"

"Then you can stay, and I'll just go back and get the sled, drag the body back up the hill and finish the job myself," Harry said throwing his arms up in exasperation.

"No, no," Zeke sighed, "Wait, I'll come with you,"

He handed Shazza the pistol and she checked the safety with an easy familiarity.

"Just don't shoot any more people unless you absolutely have to, no matter how annoying they get," Harry said eyes flicking pointedly to Paris, "I'm sick and tired of lugging corpses around,"

"I'll try and oblige," Shazza said wryly tucking the weapon into her belt.

"Be careful, luv," Zeke added fingers twitching madly.

Shazza had matters well in hand, though. She reached up and without warning caught her husband round the neck and pulled him down for a long kiss. Zeke's arms came up automatically and pulled her close, molding her to his body, and all was right in their world for a few moments.

"You be careful," she told him seriously when they finally broke apart.

Zeke nodded brushing his hand across her cheek and tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

"I'll take the 'ead," he said turning towards Harry.

He looked more steady. Harry nodded.

"Alright, let's get this done then,"

Jack, Shazza, and Paris took refuge in the wreckage of the ship.

Zeke and Harry, working in tandem, managed to get the body up on their shoulders without too much difficulty and started out for the gravesite.

As Harry expected the prickling on the back of his neck and the sensation of being watched didn't go away. The further away from the ship they got the more intense the feeling became, skittering over his nerves, making his magic hum in response.

When they finally reached the tarp, the bright blue faded to brown under the light of the blue sun Harry was more than ready to dump the load.

"Merlin's beard, that bloke is bloody heavy," Harry breathed mopping his face with his sleeve.

Zeke's response was simply to take another few hits of O2. They took a few minutes to recover before pulling back the tarp on the grave to reveal, an empty hole.

Harry frowned.

"What the bloody fuckin' 'ell!" Zeke demanded.

The three corpses of the three crewmen were not in the hole where Harry and Zeke had put them.

"It's not like they could have just walked off," Harry said to himself.

Unless of course there was a wizard somewhere on this planet who was raising inferi, something that seemed highly unlikely considering inferi didn't do well in full sunlight and on a planet with three suns it was kind of difficult to avoid.

"D'you think Riddick—"

"That man is not to blame for every unusual thing that happens on this rock, and what the hell would he want with three stinking corpses anyway?" Harry said annoyed.

He tugged the tarp away from the hole to examine it more closely.

"You see that?" asked Zeke pointing out the medium sized black blemish in the wall of the grave furthest from them.

"Yeah, that wasn't there before," Harry agreed peering at the hole intently.

"D'you think somethin' dragged the bodies in there?" Zeke asked.

"It would be a tight squeeze," Harry said, non-committal, "Hey, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I don't know…whispers?"

"No," said Zeke, "You feelin' alright, mate?"

"Fine, I could have sworn I heard something though," Harry said his brow furrowing as he strained his ears.

"Prolly just the wind blowin' through the spires," Zeke said.

"Yeah, it probably would be, if there was any wind," Harry said.

They stood still and silent for a moment, listening. The noise came again, a faint hissing noise.

Snakes? Harry wondered.

"I 'eard it that time," Zeke exclaimed, "S'it comin' from that hole, d'ya think?"

"Yeah, I think so," Harry said nodding.

"Let's take a looksee then," Zeke said jumping into the hole.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold your horses a sec!" Harry said scrambling after the burly prospector and grabbing his arm, "What are you, stupid? You don't just go sticking your head into strange holes! Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there aren't things living in there that will eat your face off!"

"Eat my face off?" Zeke said with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm completely serious!"

"I just wanna, see what they are, if they're gonna be dangerous to us,"

Harry huffed and ran a hand through his hair making it stick straight up in places. This was a bad plan. He'd learned the hard way that you don't follow dangerous creatures into their small dark dens unless you want a brush with death. On the other hand they didn't know if whatever lived in that hole was dangerous and if they didn't look they probably wouldn't know until one of their company were attacked. There was no guarantee that it wouldn't be Jack or Shazza that took the hit.

Harry sighed and held out a hand.

"Here give me your light, I'll do it,"

"I thought you thought it was a bad idea?" Zeke said.

"Yeah, well, if something comes after me at least I'm small enough that I'll have some room to manoeuvre in the away direction, you'd just get stuck," Harry said.

And if it turned out the creature to which the den belonged was a giant snake or a nest of snakes or something equally snake related he would have an edge and thus a better chance at surviving the encounter.

"Alright, if you're sure," Zeke said handing him the light.

Harry knelt in front of the hole, clearing some of the loose sand and gravel out of the way so he could fit through the opening. He turned on the hand-light and gave the hole a quick once over making sure there were no creepy crawlies hanging around just waiting to crawl all over the back of his neck. The coast seemed clear enough, so Harry stuck his head in the hole and pulled himself in by his elbows. He paused when only his legs remained outside the hole, listening to the hissing whispers.

None of the whispers was quite right, in Harry's mind as he concentrated on his ability to speak to snakes and tried to translate the soft excited chatter in front of him. The problem was all the hissing was in the middle, sandwiched between soft clicking and the occasional musical trill, not fading into long ess syllables. Whatever these creatures were saying it was only by chance that some of their words vaguely resembled parseltongue.

"What d'you see?" asked Zeke.

"_Shussssshasssssh_," Harry hissed, fully immersed in his gift now.

Apparently Zeke got the message because he shut up. Harry cocked his head to the side, listening hard.

There was a flash of sinuous movement along the end of the small sloping tunnel that Harry barely saw even with the help of his hand-light.

'…_burnsss-_ieeel…' he heard abruptly.

There was a lot of clicking at this statement.

'…_hungrrrr-_ieeeel_…_'

'…_rrrrripsssssssss_…'

'…_tearrrrrsss_-ieel…'

'…ki-ki-ki-_killsssss_-ieeels…'

It struck then with another almost too quick to see movement. Harry cried out as he felt something slash his arm and the nest beyond him erupted into a frenzy of ravenous bloodthirsty clicks and trills. Harry barely kept a hold on the hand-light.

"_Egg-breaking, kin-mating prey! May you be banissssshed to the frozsssen-hellssss to eternal sssssssleep and ssssilencsssesssss_!" Harry swore quickly, softly and violently in parseltongue.

The attackers paused, listening, just long enough. His light slashed across the tunnel and caught one of the eager sinuous figures full in the face. It screamed and roared in pain and Harry felt Zeke latch on to one of his feet and pull him free of the hole just in time for a singing bladed tail barb to miss embedding itself in his flesh.

As half-pained, half-furious hissing trills spilled from the hole Harry rolled heels over head, coming up in a crouch low to the ground a good five feet from the entrance, parseltongue invectives spilling from his lips.

"'Arry!" Zeke exclaimed.

"Sssshit! Ssonofa-fucking-ice-bitch! God damnit! Fuck me three times sideways in Merlin's frilly pink knickers! Shit!" Harry added switching back to English, "Get the fuck out of this hole, now!"

Seeing that the younger man was seriously shaken up, though he didn't seem to be scared so much as have the need to just keep on swearing, Zeke heaved himself up out of the grave and then gave Harry a hand out.

The dark haired man rolled fluidly to his feet and half-kicked, half-rolled the body of the survivor into the hole.

"Burn for your fucking crowfood!" he snarled at the pit.

Zeke heard the same faint whispers coming from the hole as if whatever was in there was answering back.

Harry stalked away from the hole and from Zeke, who got to his feet, running first one hand then the other through his hair agitatedly.

"What happened in there? What'd'you see?" Zeke asked, "You're bleedin'," he added as an afterthought incase Harry had somehow managed not to notice the droplets of blood rolling down his fingers.

Zeke wasn't really sure he wanted to know what Harry had seen. Wasn't sure that he wanted to know what had upset the young man who had so far taken crash landing on a desert planet with no food, no water and a loose serial killer in stride, had hauled dead bodies, had dug a mass grave and had killed a man without blinking on top of which.

Harry laughed without humor.

"What did I say," he said, "Things that will bloody well eat your fucking face off,"

Harry finally turned around to face Zeke and saw the dark shape behind the prospector. Time seemed to slow, as it sometimes did when you watch a disaster waiting to happen, the brain speeding up to take in every single detail of the moment.

The man was as tall as Zeke, as broad in the shoulders but where Zeke was merely strong from years of hard labor this man was sculpted. His body had been honed into a weapon as deadly as the jagged white shiv he held in his hand.

This was the one who'd been watching him.

This was the murderer the others thought they were hunting.

This was Riddick.

"Zeke! Get down!" he shouted.

Zeke obeyed without question, without hesitation, and it was a good thing he did to because Harry was already running. Six steps of speed gathered up he pretty much threw himself at the man behind Zeke over top of the prospector himself.

They both grunted on impact and Harry grabbed the bigger man around the waist as they went down rolling them into a jumble of arms and legs. Harry got one boney elbow into Riddick's stomach and kept rolling free, sliding himself to his feet.

He found himself immediately facing Riddick, upright and already swinging that shiv. Damn, the man was fast, but Harry knew he was faster. He slid out of the way of the oncoming weapon, ducked under Riddick's guard and punched him.

Too close.

Riddick grabbed Harry by both wrists and twisted them in such a way that Harry cried out and fell to his knees. Then he made the mistake of releasing one of Harry's hands so he could bring the shiv up to his throat.

"You hit like a girl, sweetheart," he said amusedly next to Harry's ear.

Harry shivered; a murderer had no right to have such a low purring voice.

Harry used his free hand to brace himself against the sand as he kicked Riddick's knee out from under him. He then scrambled to his feet fast enough to have the upper hand. Moving quickly he slammed his knee as hard as he could into Riddick's solar plexus and while Riddick was doubled over Harry grabbed his head and slammed his knee into the man's jaw.

Riddick groaned.

"I'm sorry," mocked Harry dancing out of easy shiv reach, "I do what like a what, now?"

With a low growl that wouldn't have been out of place on a werewolf, Riddick didn't even bother fully rising he just moved forward and drove his shoulder into Harry's chest. Harry let out a woof of air but rather than tensing up let his body go slack as they hit sand again. In a movement Harry hadn't had too much cause to use in a long while Harry tucked his head against the hollow of Riddick's neck and, using the bigger man's own momentum against him, Harry bent his knees slightly and heaved with a grunt so that they rolled again and Harry ended up straddling Riddick's waist.

He looked down and with his hand curled into a half-fist back handed Riddick across the face. As hard as he could as much because he was offended that Riddick thought he hit like a girl as because that was the only way the solid man was going down.

Harry wished for a weapon as he brought his bloody arm up just in time to stop Riddick's shiv from biting into his flesh, again.

Riddick's other arm came up and boxed Harry's ear.

Harry cried out, dazed, and Riddick used the opportunity to flip them again.

This time Riddick had both Harry's arms pinned above his head at the wrist with his forearm, and the rest of his body pinned with the rest of his body. Leg to leg, hip to hip, chest to chest. Riddick was using the forearm he had pinned Harry's wrists with to support his body weight and Harry felt the bones creak in protest. His shiv was once again pressed to Harry's throat.

Harry whimpered a little, not able to bite his tongue on the vulnerable sound, as the pressure popped the blisters caused by the manacles making screaming pains go shooting through his damaged wrists.

"You move an' I'll blow your fuckin' brains out," Zeke said trembling slightly as he stood over Riddick and Harry with a pickaxe.

"No you won't," Riddick said.

The vibrations of his low chuckle rumbled pleasantly through Harry.

"You left the gun with the woman,"

"I can still bury this in your 'ead," Zeke said pressing the edge of the pickaxe against Riddick's neck, "You alright, 'Arry?"

"I'm fine, Zeke,"

Harry wriggled a bit under Riddick, trying to ease some of the pressure on his wrists.

"Enjoying yourself there, sweetheart?"

Harry felt the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck and spreading out from his cheeks at Riddick's raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, well it's been a couple thousand years since last I got any, so sue me,"

"I'd rather just screw you,"

Zeke's eyebrows went up to his hairline and Riddick chuckled, an action that did absolutely nothing to help matters for Harry.

"Zeke, would you please just brain the cocky bastard,"

"Ah, ah, ah," Riddick said gliding the razor sharp edge of his shiv against the column of Harry's throat, "You do that, Zeke, and your new little friend can join the so-called survivor in that hole,"

Zeke hesitated, the pickaxe poised to strike.

"You're bluffin'"

"Do you really want to take that chance?" Riddick asked, "Tell you what, we'll make a trade. Your friend for your O2 rig,"

"Alright," Zeke agreed quickly.

"Toss the rig on the ground next to me,"

"How do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?" Zeke demanded.

"You don't," Riddick answered.

"He'll keep it," Harry told Zeke confidently.

In truth Harry was only pretty sure Riddick wouldn't go back on his word and just open his throat. He would be more sure if he could see the damn man's eyes from behind the thick dark goggles he wore.

Trusting Harry though and not seeing many other options, Zeke unhooked his O2 rig one handed and tossed it next to Harry and Riddick as instructed.

Riddick moved all at once, pressing hard against Harry's wrists causing him to scream and lose his concentration for the moment and startling Zeke enough that he didn't think to hit Riddick. The murderer rolled to the side snatching up the breather as he went, got to his feet and took off at an impressive run.

Zeke didn't bother trying to go after him.

"You alright, 'Arry?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," Harry said even though his makeshift bandages were bloody and his wrists ached fiercely.

He rolled over and got to his feet with Zeke's help squinting out across the sand just in time to see Johns brain Riddick with his baton.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Edited 2011-11-14,<strong> **10:25pm**.

Hey everybody, hope you enjoyed the chapter, there was some Harry/Riddick action to sweeten the pot for you! Sorry if all the swearing is offending anyone (though this is an M-rated fic just sayzin'!) I had that scene in my head pretty much when I started this thing and I think it turned out alright.

Anyway, enough babbling, please review and let me know what you guys think!


	6. Chapter Five: The Devil You Can Use

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Five: The Devil You Can Use**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series.

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, for those of you who care I've edited chapter 4 but you do not need to go back and re-read it to get all the info by any means. That being said thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favourited.

* * *

><p>Zeke and Harry winced in near unison. They could practically hear the crack of reinforced plastic striking Riddick's admittedly hard head.<p>

"That's got to hurt," Harry said.

"C'mon, we should go see if Johns needs a hand," Zeke said moving forward across the hard-pack in between the spires at a jog.

"I'm honestly more worried about Riddick," snorted Harry.

He watched, frowning, as Johns stripped his goggles from Riddick's head and the convict put his arms up trying to fight off Johns' blows with the baton and shield his eyes from the sun at the same time.

"Rat bastard," Harry muttered to himself.

He was liking Johns less and less every second the blond man spent kicking and hitting a man who was clearly incapacitated. In Harry's mind there were only two options for handling a man like Riddick. Either imprison the man, like a professional, or kill him outright and do the world a favor. Harry's choice would depend on the atrocity of Riddick's crimes, the motive behind them and his immediate threat level to the people he cared about.

"I think you got 'im," Zeke said uncomfortably to Johns a few minutes later.

Johns paused, and noticed that Riddick was unconscious and with a visible effort, eased up.

"Saw the struggle. He hurt you?" asked Johns breathing heavily and gesturing to Harry's bloody arm and wrists.

Harry shrugged.

"Not really, aggravated my injuries some. I'll have some pretty bruises tomorrow, whenever the hell that is on this bloody rock. No, our real problem isn't Riddick, as much as you might like to believe it is,"

Johns' blue eyes narrowed, but before he could begin grilling Harry about his cryptic statement Fry and Shazza came sprinting up to them.

"Zeke!" Shazza cried in relief throwing herself into his arms.

"I'm fine, luvvy,"

"Johns, what the hell?" demanded Fry.

"Sorry," he said, a bit of genuine chagrin crossing his features, "Caught Riddick's trail, I had to move fast,"

Fry, for whatever reason, just seemed to accept this, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. She glanced down at the inert form they were arrayed around.

"At least you got him," she said, "That's one less thing we have to worry about,"

"Yeah, well, I have another thing to add to that tally, so let's just get him chained back up so we can get to the show and tell," Harry said.

Johns gave him a hard look, but Zeke and Shazza were already nodding and moving to implement Harry's suggestion.

"Help me with the sled, Shaz?"

"Sure,"

Harry was painfully aware that he'd created another neat little divide in the chain of command. Fry's command was shaky enough without Harry running around screwing with things and technically she should be in command because she was of course the captain. However, Harry did not want Johns wielding more than his fair share of power, so he had to undermine him. In undermining him though he was also undermining Fry.

"I hate politics," he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" asked Fry suspiciously.

And it looked like Johns had used his alone time with Fry to his advantage. Great.

"Nothing, just talking to myself, look, there's Zeke and Shazza,"

Sure enough the prospectors were jogging up, maneuvering the sled around the spires with ease.

"No problems?" Harry asked, eyes flicking significantly to the hole.

"All quiet," Zeke said shaking his head.

Before either Johns or Fry could direct them Zeke grabbed Riddick up under the arms and Harry lifted his feet and they had him lashed to the shed with no problems.

"I'll go get the restraints set up," Johns said nodding at them as if he wasn't pissed he'd lost the chance to exert his authority.

"I'll come with you, I want to check a few things before the meeting," Fry said.

Together they moved off making good time, unencumbered as they were by the sled. Shazza stayed close moderating her pace in order to walk on Zeke's left.

"We shouldn't tell them about what happened to the survivor," Shazza said once the pair were out of earshot.

"What're you on 'bout, luv?" grunted Zeke as they hauled the sled over a rough patch of ground.

"It's not safe, I don't think, to tell Johns about what really happened to the survivor," Shazza repeated.

"Why'd you say that?" asked Zeke.

"C'mon, you saw the way he wailed on Riddick, we could hear the smackin' from a good distance off. The man is obsessed. If he thinks you and Harry aren't on the straight and narrow, you'll end up keepin' Riddick company in slam. Harry's already under suspicion because of how he was found…"

Shazza trailed off as Zeke began nodding grimly.

"You're right," he agreed, turning his head slightly to face Harry he said, "I might not have liked watchin' what you did but you're not like Riddick, you're good people, an' I don't wanna see you brought down by Johns,"

"Jack'll never sell you out; he's quite taken with you. No one need be the wiser,"

"Thanks, but you two are forgetting one thing,"

"What's that?"

"Paris,"

"Cripes, he's right,"

"Paris seems like the kind of man who does what he thinks will save his own skin, and keep him in comfort and safety, for a minimum of effort. He doesn't like me, and now he's afraid of me,"

"Damn," sighed Shazza.

"Ten quid says Johns is waiting for me with a shotgun,"

"What's quid?" asked Zeke.

"Money,"

"You don't have any money,"

"That's why I need to accumulate some by betting on sure things," Harry grinned.

"No bet," snorted Zeke.

"You couldn't do much with 10 SCU's even if you did win, anyway," Shazza pointed out.

"What's an SCU?"

"Standard Currency Unit, think of it like the interplanetary dollar. Some systems have their own forms of currency markers but all the tradin' between planets and systems are done in SCU's and the value of systemic currency markers in SCU's is monitored by the Company," Shazza explained.

"So what's the Company?" asked Harry interested.

"Later," Zeke said grimly.

Harry looked away from Shazza and back towards the ship. They were almost there and sure enough Johns and Fry were standing a bit away from the ship and Johns had his shotgun.

"You know, I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so,"

"That's close enough," barked Johns.

"Zeke, Shazza, take Riddick inside, Imam will help you chain him up properly," Fry added.

Harry relinquished his side of the sled to Shazza in slow easily visible movements, not wanting to spook Johns and his love of violence while he had that shotgun in hand.

Their reluctance apparent Zeke and Shazza did as Fry ordered.

"Why don't you tell me the truth about what your angle is?" Johns said once the prospectors were out of earshot, "You kill, according to Paris, as easily and remorselessly as if it was breathing. You threatened him, apparently. And Riddick left you alive. Add that all up and it's more than a little suspicious,"

"Not really," shrugged Harry, "Paris, is jumping at shadows, and Riddick, has no reason to want me dead since I'm not a real threat to his survival or escape,"

"How do you figure that?" asked Fry.

Harry's face took on a distinctly disgruntled expression.

"He said I hit like a girl,"

Johns considered the statement.

"There are three ways to survive a serial killer, be interesting, be stronger, or be a completely beneath their notice,"

"You still killed a man in cold blood, and threatened Paris," Fry pointed out.

"I was in a war, captain, two technically. I've had a lot of time to get desensitized to killing and this in particular was an act of mercy. The guy had third degree burns, lacerations galore, he should have died of shock really. Not only that but he also had a fragment of shrapnel that had ruptured the lower intestine, and that was all before Zeke shot him,"

Fry went steadily paler as Harry described the man's injuries.

"Zeke shot him? Why?" asked Johns.

"Why do you think? He thought it was Riddick, the tales you've been telling to keep us all on our toes worked a little too well. Zeke saw a bald man with dark skin and shot first, it was an accident," Harry sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Look, all I did was put the man out of his misery,"

"And Paris?" Fry insisted.

Harry grimaced a bit.

"I have a morbid sense of humor and Paris was annoying me,"

Fry was nodding now, sighing, accepting that he was just going to be a pain in her ass. Johns, however, still had the gun trained on Harry, a calculating gleam in his eye.

"It's too much of a risk,"

If Fry gave an inch, the man would shoot him.

His magic responded to that thought humming agitatedly just under his skin looking to be used waiting for instruction on how best to protect him. There wasn't enough there for even a crap-ass shield spell. Talking it out was his only real option.

"Look," Harry started carefully, "There are things about this planet and your situation that you don't know about yet, I have the information you are going to need to survive,"

"I'll get it from Zeke," Johns said.

"He doesn't know all of it,"

Not that Harry really knew too much more than Zeke but Johns didn't need to know that.

"Johns," snapped Fry when he still didn't lower his gun, "Leave it," she ordered.

The cop was about a half-second longer in obeying than Harry was really comfortable with, but he did put up his weapon.

Harry nodded; a silent acknowledgement of the temporary nature of Johns' so-called mercy.

"We'd better get back to the ship, if what you're saying is true we need to know what we're up against, come up with some kind of plan," Fry said.

Harry started moving, not bothering to wait, since he knew Johns wouldn't tolerate him at his back right now as much as because there was safety in numbers especially when among those numbers you had allies and children.

Imam was waiting for them in the jagged hole that served as the wreck's doorway.

"All is well?" he asked.

"For now," Johns and Harry answered in near unison.

Imam nodded.

"My friend, you are bleeding," the holy man said indicating Harry's now fully red arm.

Harry glanced down at it with a bit of surprise. Truthfully he'd forgotten he'd been injured in all of the ensuing excitement.

"Can you patch me up?" he asked.

"Yes, we found a small med-kit among the emergency supplies, there are clean bandages and Mr. Ogleby's spirits will prove most useful," Imam agreed his serene accented voice soothing to Harry's jangled nerves.

"We're gonna have to have a meeting, all the adults," Fry said.

Imam nodded.

"I have already sent Jack with my boys to search the cargo-bay for more useful items, Suleiman will make sure they stay out of trouble and Shazza is confident of Jack's abilities with a cutting torch," he explained, "The rest of us have gathered in the Nav Bay,"

"Good, thank you Imam," Fry said.

"Riddick's secure?" Johns asked almost lazily as they entered the semi-darkness of the ship that seemed profound after the intense light of the three suns.

"Yes, we did as you instructed,"

Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness near instantly and he thanked Merlin for the umpteenth time that he'd finally caved and let Hermione transfigure his eyes.

Riddick had been chained to his old cryo pod and was sitting on a make-shift stool. His legs were free. A mistake if Harry had ever seen one, but, then again, Johns had to be running out of restraints by now. The man's head still lolled forward but Harry couldn't tell whether he was unconscious or faking.

The group moved out of the main cabin through the crew cabin and into the Nav Bay. Far enough away that Riddick wouldn't be able to hear them unless they broke into some kind of argument and started shouting.

"Why is he not chained up with the other one, he killed a man!" Paris protested the moment he saw Harry walking free.

"Shut up, Paris," said Fry, "We've got more important things to worry about,"

Imam picked up a bottle of something alcoholic from Paris' stores and smooth-edged white case with a red cross stamped on the front. The wizard and the holy man sat and folded their legs lotus-style on the floor facing each other while the others leaned against walls or consoles.

"Alright, now that we're all here we need to share what we've found," Fry said getting the meeting started, "Imam, why don't you start us off with your discovery?"

Imam nodded not looking up from his work. Harry hissed as the stinging alcohol entered his cuts, flushing out sand and grit.

"We have discovered a settlement, it is abandoned but there is still a well with a pump and water purifier, if we can get it working we will have fresh clean water," Imam told them.

"A settlement you say?" said Paris looking intrigued and hopeful.

"Small town, maybe 100 settlers, looked to be diggers and their families," Johns reported.

"There is much left behind that is still in good condition, if we can find food we have no reason to fear the wait for rescue," Imam added as he carefully peeled the makeshift bandages off Harry's wrists.

He doused those wounds in alcohol as well and Harry tasted the blood flooding his mouth as he quite literally bit down on his whimpers.

"Even if we don't find food there's a ship," Fry said excitement clear in her voice.

"A ship? Really?" said Shazza hopefully.

"Yes, it's old and in need of some simple repairs, for sure, but I'm pretty sure I can adapt it to run off of the Hunter-Gratzner's power cells, other than that if the hull's intact and the wiring hasn't been interfered with, I can fly us off this damn rock," Fry practically crowed.

"That's great news," said Zeke looking relieved.

"Harry, you said you and Zeke had something to tell us, something you discovered," Fry prompted.

Harry nodded watching in fascination as Imam applied some sort of clear liquid bandage to his cuts and abrasions.

"Are you going to tell us about it or are the band-aids too hypnotizing?" Johns sneered.

"Seriously, this stuff is band-aid brand?"

"Don't really think that's the most important thing right now," Zeke said laughing.

"Right, sorry," Harry said sheepishly turning to face the room, a slightly awkward move since Imam still had a firm hold on his arms, "By now you've all heard about the survivor that didn't survive, well, Zeke and I had just put the crew in the hole when that all happened and when we came back with the fourth body the other three were gone. No trace of where they went, but there was this burrow type thing that hadn't been there before. We thought some critter might have dragged the carrion away for a meal. As it turns out we were right, only these critters are the size of me with long thin bodies, razor sharp boney barbs on their tails, taloned hands, a head covered in some sort of thick bone plating and a mouthful of teeth as long as my fingers,"

"Jesus," hissed Fry.

"That's not the worst part," Harry warned, "There are a ton of these things living under the ground and they're ravenous and not picky about what they're eating apparently so long as it's meat. My guess is, we'll find these things in underground nests all over the planet,"

"Moon," Fry corrected him.

"What?"

"This is a moon, not a planet, it's called Hades,"

"How appropriate," Paris muttered.

"Whatever," Harry said giving Fry an odd look, "Zeke saved my ass before they could eat me, but that was luck more than anything, these suckers don't like light for whatever reason,"

"So if we stick to daylight, not too difficult in this place, we should be fine," Johns said with a shrug.

"Yeah, unless they decide the meal is worth going out into the light for," Harry pointed out as Imam finished wrapping the wounds with clean white gauze.

"Or we have to go underground to fix that pump," Zeke added, "We don't know what's wrong with the bloody thing, so we can't be sure,"

"We can cross that bridge if we come to it," Johns said waving Zeke off, "What I'm more concerned about is the bridge we're ready to cross right now and that bridge is Riddick,"

"Why bother with 'im?" Zeke asked, "Leave 'im 'ere, chained up, if he escapes he'll still have no food or water or air and he won't know where we've gone,"

"You mean leave him here to die," Fry said, looking uncomfortable.

"Does it matter whether we let 'im rot 'ere for the rest of his short miserable life or take 'im with us and let 'im rot in a slam for the rest of his longer miserable life?"

"It matters to me," Johns snapped, "The people he hurt need the closure of knowing he's locked away for good,"

"He's a waste of resources," Shazza said, "I say we leave him,"

"You're talking about intentionally leaving someone here to die," Fry said.

"If it were him, he wouldn't even blink before doing it to us," Shazza said defensively.

"He is still a creature of God, he does not deserve this, and I am against it," Imam said vehemently.

"If he's a creature of God, then God can save 'im," Zeke said.

"We could use him," Johns said slowly.

"What the fuck are you talking about Johns?" Fry demanded.

"Think about it, we don't know anything about these creatures living underground, and we don't know what we're going to be up against, so we make a deal, his life for his strength and skills," Johns said.

"No fuckin' way!" Zeke said automatically.

"You want to use the man as cannon fodder? Isn't that a little risky," Harry pointed out.

"Doing anything around Riddick is risky, but he wants his freedom, he'll play nice," Johns said.

"Or you could leave well enough alone!" Shazza snapped, "I can't believe you! You're willing to put us all in danger because of something that might happen, because he _might_ be useful,"

"It's risky," Fry agreed, but there was more thoughtfulness in her voice than Harry expected, she glanced at Imam, "But it's more humane than leaving him here to starve to death, and it solves the problem of how we'd keep him from escaping and killing us all in our sleep if we brought him along in chains,"

That was interesting. Apparently Johns wasn't the only one bending the captains ear.

"Yes, because the rattling of the chains wouldn't alert us to his presence so we wouldn't be able to prevent it," Paris exclaimed throwing his hands up.

"Like I said, it's risky. I want to talk to him, feel him out, I want you to trust me to make the best decision for our survival," Fry said.

"No," said Zeke immediately, "No offence meant, cap'n, but you could be lied to. You don't know how the man thinks, how dangerous he is,"

"Harry should go with you," Shazza said.

"Yes, because that makes perfect sense, let's kill the captain, jolly good show," Paris said sarcastically taking a swig from yet another bottle.

Zeke and Shazza sent him nearly identical dirty looks and Harry wondered absently who had learned the look from whom.

"Harry has some experience with this kind of thing, prisoners of war, Jack said," Shazza said glancing at Harry for confirmation.

"That's right," Harry agreed nodding.

Shazza nodded back.

"Right, so Harry knows how guys like Riddick think, he's more likely to spot any lies, any deception. He's been attacked by Riddick, so we know he's not going to act in his interests. If both the cap'n and Harry agree then we all agree to use Johns plan,"

"And if we don't agree?"

"We all agree to take the man out of the equation, knock him out again, leave him a way to escape and he can live or die on his own merits. We'll put him in God's hands,"

Imam frowned but nodded.

"I can accept this," he agreed.

"Cool, let's go have tea with the murderer," Harry said bouncing to his feet.

"Wait, wait, wait," Fry said, "What do we say to him?"

"Everything and nothing, small talk, little bits of truth, lie a bit, we're trying to get a feel for the guy right so any responses are gonna be useful," Harry said.

"Right,"

"Don't worry,"

"I've never done this kind of thing," Fry said in a low voice.

"Sure you have," Harry said, "You're judging him on a scale of your own perceived character; same as anyone else you meet. 'She's prettier than me, dear Merlin he's so boring, I could never accept that kind of disrespect'. It's a little like choosing whether or not you want to be friends with a person, judging how trustworthy they are, feeling out their personality based on previous experiences. The only advantage I have over you is that I've met more murderers,"

Harry gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and strode easily into the main cabin. Long, confident, ground-eating strides that no reluctance, no fear and no weakness.

It was semi-dark in the cabin but Riddick was chained smack dab in the middle of a beam of sunlight his eyes were closed, there was a small smirk playing in the corner of one mouth. A secretive little upraising of his lips. His body looked deceptively relaxed but Harry could tell he was ready for anything.

His nostrils flared and his small smirk turned into a full blown toothy grin. Harry was actually a little surprised at how white and straight his teeth were.

"You miss me, sweetheart?"

"Well, since Imam fixed me up a bit I figure I'm about ready for round two," Harry said breaking into a predatory grin of his own, "Have you met the captain?"

"Not face to face,"

Fry shivered a bit at the implication behind those words. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who'd been stalked that day.

"Well, that's Fry, she's the captain, and we want to know where you stashed the body," Harry said pleasantly.

Riddick arched a brow.

"Which one?"

"Suleiman, tallest Chrislam boy, he's missing, we found his breather, it was broken which was why you came after Zeke, am I right?" Harry prodded.

"Barely lukewarm,"

"Don't lie to us Riddick, you're the only one on this fucking moon that can make someone disappear that fast," snapped Fry.

She wasn't a half-bad actress Harry noted.

"Hmm. So you haven't told her about the whispers, have you sweetheart?"

"What whispers?" demanded Fry jumping all over it.

"The ones telling me to go for the sweet spot, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta. It's a metallic taste, human blood, sort of coppery. Of course when you cut it with peppermint schnapps that goes away pretty quick,"

"Heathen," Harry interjected lazily, "The only way to drink human blood is in three quarters of Ogden's finest firewhiskey, gulp it all back and the burn going down is fantastic,"

Riddick chuckled. Fry looked a little green around the gills.

"Great, now again, from the top, only this time lets go with something even remotely close to the truth," she said steadily.

Harry supposed it was a good thing Riddick had his eyes closed since Fry sounded way better than she looked right now.

"You all are so scared of me, 'cept you sweetheart, most days I would take that as a compliment. But it ain't me you gotta be worried about now,"

"Who should I be worried about then? Harry? Johns, maybe? These made up whispers? You do know there's a debate going on about whether to kill you outright or just leave you here to starve. You tell us where you hid the body, and I'll make sure it's fast and clean,"

"Did I do a few people? Sure. Did I do the Chrislam?" Riddick paused a beat, "No. Sorry, cap'n, you've got the wrong killer,"

"Show me your eyes," Fry demanded, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do it,"

Riddick chuckled again, the low purring chuckle that drove Harry insane.

"You'd have to come a lot closer for that,"

Harry moved himself just out of Riddick's reach. Fry was more wary taking only a few steps.

"Closer," coaxed Riddick, clearly amused.

Fry inched a few more steps closer wiping sweaty palms on her thighs. When she drew level with Harry, Riddick sprang.

He was on his feet his, chain stretched to the limit. Fry jerked backwards. Harry stood his ground, figuring Riddick would try something like that.

What Harry wasn't prepared for was the sight of Riddick's eyes. They were beautiful, a matte black iris with no pupil that he could see, that flashed silver for a brief moment when the faint light struck them just right.

"Where the hell can I get eyes like that?" breathed Jack.

Riddick turned to face the boy where he stood half-way down the stairs from the maintenance level.

"You've gotta kill a few people," Riddick told him.

"'Kay, I can do it," Jack said.

"Then you gotta get sent to a slam where they tell you you'll never see daylight again. So you dig up a doctor, well, at least that's what they call him, and you pay him twenty menthol kools to do a surgical shine job on your eye-balls,"

"So you can see who's sneaking up on you in the dark," Jack finished with an eager grin.

"Exactly," Riddick grinned back.

"Leave!" Fry snapped at Jack.

The grin fell and Jack glared scooping up the breather he'd apparently come looking for and scrambling back up the stairs before disappearing into the maintenance deck.

"Cute kid,"

"You still haven't told me what I want to know, Riddick. Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't kill Suleiman,"

Riddick looked Fry directly in the eyes.

"I didn't kill anybody on this rock,"

"Then what did kill him?"

"Why don't you ask your boy here? Ask him how he really got that gash on his arm,"

Riddick closed his eyes then and sat back down on his stool in his ray of faint blue sunshine.

"I think we're done here," Harry said.

"I agree," said Fry, "It's time for you and me to have a talk,"

Harry followed Fry passively out of the main cabin and out into the desert. They took a few steps away from the ship watching as Jack trudged back to the cargo-bay his entire posture screaming hostility.

"What do you think?" asked Fry after a minute.

"Honestly, I think Johns is right, though I'll deny ever saying those exact words with my dying breath. I think if we offer Riddick his freedom he'll work with us,"

Fry nodded to herself.

"Alright, I guess we better start packing then,"

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Alright, so, I don't make it a habit of answering reviews in my actual story. However, I've found that a lot of the people with questions either submit an anonymous review or don't have the PM feature enabled. So I'm going to answer some of the most common and/or most interesting questions here at the end. That being said I'm not going to name names, reviewers you know what your questions were. Or if you don't you can look it up.

On the subject of **Harry's emotions**...Hi, you've reached Harry's Emotions, we are sorry to inform you that we cannot currently process your request for acknowledgement as we have been experiencing backlog, confusion and delay due to expansion in the survival and knowledge sectors, but if you leave your name, number and a brief message we will be happy to deal with your concerns at a later date. We apologize for any inconvenience...in other words wait a few chapters, I'll get there eventually.

On the subject of **the story title**. The ghost in the machine is actually a theory that states thoughts, emotions, sentience and the like is a separate part. The part that makes you, you. Like your soul, only not. That part of you is the ghost and your body is the machine, the idea is the not-your-soul can form and exist without your body. I thought that was highly appropriate. In addition, Riddick uses ghost to describe killing, Harry would be the killer or alternatively the man that's supposed to be dead but is around anyway and the machine would either be literally the Hunter-Gratzner or more figuratively the Pitch Black canon. For more information please feel free to visit google or wikipedia, they are down the hall and to your left.

There will NOT be any **Johns/Harry/Riddick** romantic rivalry. Johns is straight and also too much of a douche for me to write him interested in Harry, I mean where's the allure?

**Was Harry turned on by Riddick or the situation?** Well (Heterosexual males can skip this next bit) if you had Vin Diesel lying on top of you pressed against every inch of your body and he was doing his sexy laugh would you not be hot and bothered? Besides which since my Harry is quite a bit darker than in canon I'm sure he enjoyed the bloody foreplay as well, he couldn't handle Riddick if he didn't.

On the subject of **bioraptors**...some information has come to light and it requires thought. Not gonna come up for a couple of chapters anyway.

One the subject of a **sequel**, yes. Will it follow CoR? Not initially but so far it's a nebulous thing so that could change. Again not too worried about that since I'm not even halfway through this piece yet.

Now here's **a question for you guys**, turns out Ogleby is actually cannonically Oglevie, should I go through and change it or should I continue writing it wrong?

Wow, if you made it through all that blab kudos!

That's all for this time folks drop me a **review**, let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter Six: Mine

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Six: Mine**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series

**Author's Note:** Hey there and welcome back! Thanks to everyone who reviewed alerted and favourited, it's good to know you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

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><p>The rest of the group was still gathered together, quietly and anxiously awaiting the verdict when Fry and Harry returned to the Nav Bay. Zeke and Shazza had their heads together discussing something in hushed tones. Paris was drinking. Johns was picking the dirt out from under his nails with the blade of a knife. Imam was, of course, praying the beads of his rosary clicking together.<p>

At the sound of their entrance five sets of eyes immediately focused on them.

"Well?" Shazza asked

"Alright, Harry and I both agree, we're going to deal with Riddick,"

Paris went very pale and took another swig from his ever present bottle. Zeke and Shazza didn't look happy but they nodded in agreement. Johns' expression was unreadable but he let out an audible breath.

"Johns, you're going to present it to him, take whatever precautions you think you need," Fry added.

"Alright then, Shazza an' me are gonna start loading the sleds, we're gonna wanna kick on while the suns are low,"

"Okay," agreed Fry.

The prospectors left the Nav Bay together.

"Imam, you can help me in the battery bay, I'm gonna need a few things to check the ship,"

"It would be my pleasure, captain," Imam agreed pleasantly as he rose to his feet.

Fry and Imam set to work uncovering the trap door, which had been clogged up with sand in the crash, and then climbed down the ladder into the battery bay, flipping on the emergency lighting as they went.

"I'll just help the children with the items from the cargo-bay, shall I?" Paris said wandering out.

More like make sure the children were handling his items to his specifications in the cargo-bay, Harry thought uncharitably.

Johns gave Harry a dark look, for what Harry wasn't about to take a guess that man had some serious issues, and headed out into the passenger cabin. Harry, not feeling like he had to declare his intentions to thin air, followed Johns out of the Nav Bay and slipped into the maintenance corridor to eavesdrop on his conversation with Riddick.

He climbed up a level and sat cross-legged on a bit of metal mesh scaffolding closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He cleared his mind and concentrated all his focus on listening, letting his ears track Johns' movement across the passenger bay, his boots tromping heavily on the floor.

"So, he told you about the whispers. Now you need the big bad to protect you. Finally found something worse than me, huh Johns?" Riddick sounded amused, but not surprised.

"Here's the deal, you work without chains, without bit, and without shivs. You do what I say, when I say it,"

"For what? The honor of going back to some asshole of a cell? Fuck you," snapped Riddick.

Concentrating Harry heard the wet swipe of a tongue over a lower lip. Johns', Harry was pretty sure. Riddick really had no reason to make the gesture.

"The truth is," Johns lied, anyone who started out a sentence with 'the truth is' was preparing to lie, "I'm tired of chasing you,"

Harry could practically hear Riddick's interest sharpening.

"Are you sayin' you'd turn me loose?" he almost whispered.

"I'm thinking you could've died in the crash,"

There was silence for a long moment as Riddick considered the offer.

"My recommendation? Do me. Don't take the chance I'll get shiv-happy on your wannabe ass,"

"Okay," said Johns.

"Ghost me, motherfucker, that's what I would do to you,"

There was the tear of velcro, two fast, sharp clicks and then the booming retort of Johns' shotgun. Harry dug his nails into his palms willing himself not to move from his hiding spot. A good thing he did too because not a minute later he heard the scrape of chains against the hull.

Johns was just indulging in his need to have a pissing contest with someone.

"I want you to remember this moment. The way it could've gone and didn't. Here,"

There was another shorter silence and then Riddick sprang up from his seated position and there was another click-click as he apparently got his hands on Johns' shotgun.

Harry blinked when after a long moment there was no gun retort. There was the slight scrape of boot heels on the deck and the faint clicks that made Harry think Riddick was adjusting his hold on the gun.

"Easy," breathed Johns.

"Fuck you!"

"Do we have a deal?"

Riddick was breathing hard. Harry could hear the heavy pants. Was he wrestling with his desire to kill Johns? Harry halfway hoped Riddick would just do it so that they could be rid of the man but he also knew it would not be a good plan. Finally his breathing slowed and evened until Harry couldn't hear it anymore.

"I want you to remember this moment," he rumbled in his normal voice.

Then there was a crash as Riddick apparently tossed the gun aside the heavy tromp of booted feet and the scrape of chains drawing nearer as the now free convict moved across the passenger cabin and into the maintenance corridor.

"Enjoy the show, sweetheart?" asked Riddick in a low voice not looking up at Harry.

"You know if you keep on calling me that I'm gonna have to come up with something doubly embarrassing to call you," Harry told him moving out of his hiding spot.

He dropped the few feet from the scaffolding to the deck and leaned against the hull as he watched Riddick rummage around in a tool box for a screw driver.

"You spyin' on me?"

"Turn about's fair play, don't you think?" Harry shot back, "But no, this is me apologizing for lying to you,"

That got his attention and Harry found himself pinned by Riddick's flashing silver and black gaze. A screwdriver was gripped tightly in his hand, a weapon.

"We knew you hadn't got to Suleiman because Suleiman was never dead. I'd told the others about the things under the ground almost first thing when I got back. It was a trick," Harry said, "We were testing you, to see if we could trust you,"

"That's how Johns got the rest of you to agree to his little deal," Riddick said relaxing slightly and turning back to fiddling with his chains with the screwdriver.

"Exactly, so, I'm sorry I lied,"

"You did what you thought you needed to do, I would've done the same thing, why bother apologizing?"

"'Cause I don't like it when people lie to me, and accuse me of doing terrible things I've never done," shrugged Harry.

The chains fell away from Riddick's wrists like magic and clanked to the deck. Harry was a bit jealous to see the skin of his wrists was only bruised. Riddick moved quickly and silently, getting right into Harry's space.

"Why aren't you afraid of me, sweetheart?" breathed Riddick his bulk trapping Harry against the hull.

"What're you gonna do to me?" Harry asked, challenging, "Kill me?"

"It wasn't my first thought," Riddick admitted.

Harry's breath caught and heat pooled gratifyingly low in his belly as Riddick stroked the column of his throat with the back of two fingers, the same path he'd traced with his bone-shiv earlier.

"Hmm, isn't that interesting?"

"What?" asked Harry low and throaty.

"You're glowing,"

Harry's eyes widened. Shit, he thought. He didn't think as depleated as it was that his magic would manifest in such an obvious fashion even though his skin was tingling with it. He looked down at his body, and frowned.

"I am not glowing," he told Riddick, annoyed he'd been tricked.

"You are in my eyes," grinned the other man tapping his temple significantly, "Wherever I touch you, you light up for a second," he explained swiping his fingers up along Harry's jaw-line.

"Why?" asked Harry even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Dunno, body heat, maybe,"

"Mmm," he hummed eyes half-lidded.

Riddick chuckled.

Harry sternly reminded himself that Riddick was dangerous and shook his head to jolt himself out of his lust induced stupor, catching Riddick gently by his wrists and pushing the man back an arm's length.

"Having second thoughts?"

"Cool your jets, hot stuff, I wanted to have a serious conversation with you and since I can't seem to form words when you put your hands on me, you have to stay over there for a minute,"

Riddick let out an amused grunt but leaned his body away obligingly.

"Now, there's no point in me denying being attracted to you, so I'm not going to. The fact that you're a murderer is unfortunate, but I can deal with it. The fact that you're apparently a threat to me doesn't bother me in the slightest, I can take care of myself," Harry started.

"But?"

Harry's green eyes went hard and cold and Riddick acknowledged the change in the smaller man's demeanor with a curious tilt of his head.

"But, if you go after Jack, Shazza or Zeke, for any reason, I swear by all the grains of sand on this backwater moon that I will end you,"

Riddick was surprised at the frisson of wariness he felt at the threat. He trusted his instincts and his instincts were telling him that the man in front of him was not someone he wanted to fuck with. It was intriguing.

"Why?"

"They're mine," Harry said as if that should explain everything.

And, in a strange way, it did. His to care for, his to protect, his to avenge.

"Do you understand?"

Riddick nodded.

"Say, I understand," Harry demanded in a deceptively soft voice.

"I understand. The kid and the prospectors are yours,"

"Good," Harry nodded in satisfaction.

His expression warmed slightly and as if nothing of any particular significance had just happened Harry picked up some of the discarded cable and strode out of the maintenance corridor. Riddick watched him go, shook his head a bit and bent to work on getting the broken shackles off his ankles.

"Where'd you get to?" asked Zeke as Harry emerged from the crash ship.

"I thought you might need more of this," Harry said handing Zeke the cables.

Zeke gave Harry a grateful nod and tossed the a few of the cables to Shazza.

"I 'eard a shot," Zeke said raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Johns and Riddick were having a pissing contest," Harry explained, "No one actually got shot,"

"Who won?"

Harry snorted but didn't say anything.

"Right, we've got booze, tools, weapons, spare O2," Shazza summarized securing a tarp over the whole pile.

Fry and Imam emerged from the ship lugging a fuel cell awkwardly between them.

"Here, got a sling rig for that," Zeke said indicating the small square of tarp attached to two loops of cable.

Gratefully Fry and Imam lowered their burden to the tarp.

"Just the one?" Shazza asked.

"I just wanna do a sys check make sure the power adapts, we can come back for more if we need them," Fry told her, "No sense over-burdening ourselves when we haven't had food or water in a day or so,"

"What even counts as a day on this moon?" asked Harry curiously.

"Let's say one rising and setting of each sun-cycle," Fry suggested clipping the tool belt she'd slung over her one shoulder around her waist.

Jack, Paris, and Imam's boys arrived from the cargo bay sporting bags of whatever supplies they thought they would need. Harry spotted a half-dozen wine bottles in Paris' satchel and shook his head.

Johns emerged from the wreck burdened with a black duffel bag. Harry guessed the man probably had more weapons and ammo in that thing.

Riddick showed himself a few seconds later, completely chain free for the first time since Harry had met him. He had his goggles back on concealing his flashing eyes from the glare of the sun and he moved with his usual predatory ease. Harry would bet money that the man had found a weapon of some sort. His eyes picked out Suleiman in the crowd and then settled on Harry. Watching as he helped Shazza check the lines on the sled.

"Alright," started Johns his words calm and measured and a little slurred, Harry wondered if maybe he'd had a bit too much of Paris' stash, "Riddick can pull the sled, Zeke and Imam can carry the battery, Fry and me'll take point since we know the way to the settlement,"

"Hold up, that sled is seriously heavy," Shazza said.

"Riddick can handle it," said Johns dismissively.

"Yeah, an' if he passes out on us we'll have to lug 'is ass along as well, nah, needs a partner," Zeke pointed out.

Riddick looked vaguely disgruntled at the implication he couldn't handle a bit of hauling duty but didn't speak up either way.

"Well, would you like to volunteer then," offered Johns mockingly.

Zeke looked distinctly uncomfortable with the notion.

"I'll do it," Harry offered rolling his eyes.

"You?" said Fry surprised.

"Sure, Sparky over there doesn't scare me the way he scares the lot of you, and I'm sure he'll slow up for me," the last words were more directed at Riddick than anyone and the murderer grinned.

"Whatever," Johns said shaking his head.

"Does everyone have everything they need?" Fry asked.

She got nods and affirmative head shakes all around. Shazza and Fry helped Zeke and Imam into the slightly awkward battery sling and Harry maneuvered his way over to the front of the sled with Riddick.

"Here, let me help you with that," Harry said with a leering grin picking up Riddick's side of the harness.

"By all means, sweetheart," said Riddick spreading his arms.

Harry took the opportunity to run a hand along the big man's torso and chest, smirking to himself when he felt the muscles clench under his ghosting fingers, proof that Riddick wasn't as unaffected by him as he looked. He clipped the rig in the back where it wouldn't dig painfully as he pulled into Riddick's flesh and stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Come here, and I'll do you," Riddick offered.

Harry laughed wickedly.

"What?"

"Where I come from that phrase means something entirely different," he explained.

Riddick chuckled a bit himself, as he scooped up Harry's harness.

"Is your mind always this far in the gutter?"

"What can I say; you bring out the best in me,"

Riddick used his body to block the gaze of the rest of the group, and Harry was more than grateful for the precaution because it allowed him to let his eyes flutter shut and just bask in the feel of Riddick's large hands, which took a fair number of unprofessional detours while strapping Harry into his harness. Wherever the man could reach bare skin without arousing suspicion he did. Harry suspected he was watching the so-called glow, enjoying the proof of his effect on him.

"You two ready?" asked Fry a moment later breaking them out of their little game.

"Hell yes," Harry called back easily.

He was rewarded with another appearance of Riddick's low purring laugh. How the others missed the sheer volume of sexual tension between them was really beyond Harry, but nobody seemed the wiser as the whole group set off across the desert.

As Shazza had told them the sled was damn heavy, Harry wasn't sure he could have moved it even up to the spired hills without Riddick's help, the man was unnaturally strong, but they still dropped a little ways behind the group.

"Can I ask you what the deal is between you and Johns?" Harry said eventually to break the silence and give him something other than the weight of the sled behind him and the heat of the suns above him to focus on.

Riddick made a low noise.

"Johns may look like a cop, got the badge, got the gauge, but he's just a two-bit merc and I'm the biggest payday he's ever gonna see. He made it a bit more personal when I broke a shiv against his spine,"

"Huh," Harry said his sharp eyes tracking Johns' movements across the sand, easy and authoritative, "I never would have guessed. He moves with too much surety, too much self-importance,"

"Trappings. Smoke and mirrors," Riddick said in a low voice, "Underneath it all he's scum,"

"So why not just kill him when you had the chance?"

"Self-preservation. I'm worth twice as much alive and it's in Johns' own best interest to keep you all from killing me. He won't stand by this deal, but a lot can happen in a few days, on a dangerous planet," purred Riddick.

"Huh," Harry said again.

"That bother you, sweetheart?"

Harry shrugged looking out at the rising of the red and yellow suns contemplatively.

"Not really, you know you can keep trying to scare me off with this whole murderer thing but I know what I'm getting into and I'm not going to have a sudden epiphany and run screaming in the opposite direction just because you keep reminding me,"

Riddick grunted. Harry didn't bother trying to decipher what the larger man was trying to imply but instead changed the subject.

"Johns being a merc...that makes a lot of things make sense. I'd just kind of thought Johns was a power hungry dick who was taking advantage of Fry because she's inexperienced,"

"Putting that mildly,"

Riddick's head cocked to the side slightly as his attention focused elsewhere.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Listen,"

Paris' voice drifted back to them on the wind.

"So you just click you fingers and he's one of us now?"

"Not exactly, but at least this way I don't have to worry 'bout y'all falling asleep and never waking up," Johns replied.

"Right,"

Harry watched as Paris reached up to fiddle with the scarf he'd tied around his head and a bottle of wine about three quarters empty slipped out of his satchel and rolled down the sandy dune.

"Blast,"

The annoying little man jogged his way back down the hill after the bottle. Riddick took a couple of quick steps during which Harry felt the burden of the sled lift off him entirely and knelt in the sand to pick up the wine bottle rising to his feet just as Paris reached them.

"Paris P. Ogleby. Antiquities dealer. Entrepreneur," he said sticking out a hand.

Riddick glanced down at the hand and grinned toothily.

"Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict. Murderer," he said shaking the hand.

Riddick uncorked the wine bottle.

"That's a particularly good Shiraz, it's a lovely drop," Paris stuttered, his hands clenching and unclenching with the need to snatch his precious booze away.

Riddick offered Harry the bottle first, and Harry just shook his head not trusting himself not to burst into gales of laughter if he opened his mouth. Riddick shrugged and put the bottle to his lips, tilting it straight up, and began chugging.

"By all means, help yourself," said Paris clearly frustrated as he turned around and scuttled back to the safety of the group.

Harry watched, fascinated as the wine disappeared from the bottle, pouring down Riddick's throat as if it were water.

"What?" asked Riddick as he dropped the empty bottle into the sand.

"Nothing, I'm just waiting for you to pass out from that little macho-man display there," Harry said.

Riddick snorted and started forward again.

"So can I talk to him now?" they heard Jack ask as they drew closer to the group again.

"No," snapped Zeke and Shazza in unison.

"C'mon, Harry will be right there the whole time," the boy pleaded.

"Jack, Harry and Riddick need all their breath for pullin' the sled, you let them do their work in peace," Shazza said sternly.

Jack looked mutinous for a brief moment before moving up to join the youngest of Imam's boys, Ali, in a game that involved kicking a rock along the path.

They crested the rise and Harry gasped as he got his first look at the many skeletons of the giant creatures that had once roamed this godforsaken moon. He gaped like a tourist as they drew nearer. Each creature was the size of a small dragon and there were so many skeletons.

"Merlin's beard...what could have killed all these things? Climate change? Meteor?"

"They were brought down and chewed on, you can see the tooth and claw marks on the bones," Riddick said.

As they passed close to the bone the larger man pointed out some of the deeper gouges.

"The things under the ground, you think?"

"Or some other predator,"

"And wouldn't _that_ be fan-bloody-tastic," Harry muttered to himself.

"So you know why I'm here, what I'm wondering is what your deal is?" Riddick said after awhile.

"Paris bought me,"

"Didn't strike me as the slaver type,"

"Not as a slave, as art. I am one of Paris P. Ogleby's very rare, very expensive, antiquities," Harry said with a pompous air and a sneer, "I was imprisoned in living stone, he thought I was a 21st century AD, what was it? Neo-roman statue, I think. SOmething like that anyways,"

"So you weren't kidding when you said you hadn't been laid in a couple thousand years," laughed Riddick.

"Alas no," Harry grimaced.

"I'll say this for Ogleby, he's got good taste. I get half a chance and I'll swallow every drop of you," Riddick said his mouth taking on a hungry grin.

Harry felt his body surge and thrum with a heat that was entirely internal and he swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat, as his mind supplied him with images of just what it might be like to have Riddick devour him.

"'Course, you'll have to be savored, could take weeks,"

Harry licked his lips.

"Keep that up and I'm gonna have a hard time controlling myself," he said in a low, throaty voice.

"Mmm," hummed Riddick, "Maybe that's the point,"

A sudden outcry from up ahead broke the moment as the group crested the last dune and the abandoned settlement came into view.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Alright, I know I've been sticking pretty close to canon these past few chapters but I couldn't help myself, really, these are some of my favourite scenes in the movie and I wanted to include them and preserve their integrity! Hopefully the influx of Harry/Riddick makes up for that. Let me know if I'm going too fast with these two.

On the subject of** Harry's Magic**. Harry is experiencing a very very severe form of magical exhaustion. Under ideal conditions, Harry would recover all his magic in a week maybe two, but ideal conditions include things like sleep, food, water, air...y'know the pesky little necessities. So it's taking longer for Harry's magic to regenerate itself. Harry is not a squib, don't worry!

Alright folks, thanks for coming out, please leave a review on your way back to reality!


	8. Chapter Seven: Of Water and Desire

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Seven: Of Water and Desire**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series.

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, welcome back to another installment of the Ghost in the Machine! First of all thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and favourite. You guys keep me going! Secondly I'm sorry about the long wait for this update, I had a lot of trouble getting this out! Here's hoping you enjoy. Now on to the meat and potatoes!

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><p>Harry's first thoughts upon looking up with lust glazed eyes and seeing the settlement pretty much amounted to, oh good there's probably a sturdy flat surface somewhere in there. He had already formulated half-a-dozen wild schemes to drag Riddick away from all the searching suspicious eyes that followed him everywhere. All he needed was ten minutes to take the edge off this burning craving.<p>

Riddick chuckled.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty tops.

"You coming, sweetheart?"

"As soon as I can get you alone,"

Harry could tell Riddick was as surprised by this fervent assertion as he was. It wasn't really something you said to someone you'd just met, no matter how attracted you were to them. Luckily the surprise consisted of a minute rising of the convict's eyebrows before it devolved into a leering grin.

Screw modesty, lubrication and sand in new and exciting places, he wanted Riddick and he wanted the man right now. Any way he could have him.

"C'mon, pick up the pace you two, we need those tools down by the ship!" Johns called.

"Bastard!" groaned Harry, his voice husky and frustrated, as once again what promised to devolve into a highly enjoyable activity was interrupted by the intrusion of reality.

"I've been saying that all along," Riddick said with an equally annoyed growl.

Together they hauled the sled the rest of the way down the sloping sand dunes into the valley where the settlement lay nestled like some sort of bizarre little sand castle. It was a ghost town the likes of which you saw in the old black and white westerns. All that was missing was the saloon and the token tumbleweed.

What they did have was a perfect stage of sandy neglect and a testosterone driven asshole with a gun. As soon as the man came into view Harry pinned him with his most venomous glare and by the twitch of Johns' shoulders the merc felt the homicidal intent focused on him even if he missed the glare itself. It would have to do for now as letting the assembled know about his raging hard-on for their resident bogeyman wouldn't do him any favors. He was already on thin ice, best not compound the problem.

Blank faced and cranky, Harry shrugged out of his harness. Slipping out of the restraint in one smooth, unconsciously sensuous motion that caught Riddick's attention even as the sun-burnt brunet stalked away from him to join the rest of the group.

The survivors all gathered around a squat little something.

It looked a bit like a muggle bush plane had mated with a kite and a space shuttle to produce some sort of horribly mutated offspring. If Harry tilted his head a certain way it also kind of resembled a really big bug.

"Where are the kiddies?" Harry asked Shazza, not seeing any of the Chrislam boys or Jack.

"Imam's boys went to fiddle with the water pump; they're gettin' desperate for a drop. Jack said he wanted to explore the houses,"

"Is that safe?"

Shazza shrugged.

"Maybe it'll keep him out of trouble," Zeke said.

Harry snorted eloquently.

"So, this bloody piece of crap s'all we've got to work with?" Shazza asked Fry, who was crouched down doing something to the ship that involved toggling a hell of a lot of switches.

"Normally I can appreciate antiques, but this is something else entirely," Paris put in.

The antiquities dealer took another pull from a half-empty bottle of wine and swayed slightly before righting himself. Harry would give Paris P. Ogleby this much, the man could hold his liquor.

The wizard gave the ship another jaundiced once-over and found himself, for the first time, agreeing with the tiresome silk-swaddled man.

"I know I'm not exactly in the know about the shiny new tech of the future, but where I'm from you don't fly things with gaping holes in the wings unless you have a death wish or a parachute," Harry said.

"If we've got vectran that at least won't be a problem," Zeke said assessing the ship.

Despite his dismissal of the large rents in the wing sails the burly prospector still didn't think much of the ship as a whole if the curl of his lip was anything to go by.

"It'll work," Johns said unconcernedly.

"He's right, there's nothing here we can't repair so long as the electrical adapts," Fry said, looking up from whatever it was she was doing, a tad more comfortable in her natural element.

Harry took another good look at the craft. Eight seats, plus two up front for the pilots, no cargo space really. Not enough room for eleven, and with what he knew about Johns he knew exactly who would be hacked off the end of the chain.

He needed to find a weapon.

"It's not a star jumper," Shazza said pessimistically.

"Doesn't need to be," Riddick interjected.

The rest of the survivors jumped at the sound of his voice, and Harry took some vindictive amusement watching Paris fumble for his wine bottle before it hit dirt.

"Isn't the point to get to another planet or moon though? How can we do that if we can't get out of this fucked up solar system?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

If they couldn't get where they were going, fast, he would honestly rather just stay put. At least in this hellhole they had a chance of fighting for survival rather than waiting, huddled together, slowly starving, with only a thin layer of metal and ceramic in between them and the cold black emptiness of space, for their air to run out.

Harry shivered at the thought. A chill running down his spine that not even the heat of two suns could banish.

He'd spent Merlin only knows how long trapped inside a cell and then his own mind, he wasn't eager to re-visit imprisonment and helplessness so soon after tasting fresh air.

"We can take a two-seater like this out to the Sol-Track Shipping Lanes, stick out a thumb, we're bound to get picked up. Ain't that right, cap'n?"

Fry didn't say anything but Harry watched the fear flit across her face with interest. So, Riddick had outlined her plan, without her having to say anything. Sure that was disconcerting by why would it be scary?

"Can I get some help here?" Fry asked.

Riddick took three steps forward. He even plastered a solicitous look on his face that Harry didn't believe for even half-a-second.

"I've got it," Paris said, grabbing an edge of the heavy battery, "I got it," he repeated grunting as he and Fry lifted the thing up and carried it into the belly of the ship.

Shazza followed them grabbing some sort of tool from her belt.

Johns intercepted Riddick before he got three feet from the ramp.

"Whoa, hey, check out these containers here, see if they've got vectran or anything else we can use to patch these wings," Johns ordered.

Riddick gave the man a long dirty look, but backed down. Apparently biding his time. Harry watched as Riddick stalked away from the ship, sliding around the edge of a shed and then out of sight.

He took a step forward, ready to follow the convict to some out of the way corner and finish what they'd just barely started.

"C'mon, let's go see what kinda mess-shape the water pump s'in," Zeke said slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder and forcibly steering him in the opposite direction.

Harry waited until they were far out of earshot of the ship before he let the wry grin twist his lips.

"Curses, foiled again," he said with some amusement.

"What in the bloody hell d'ya think you're doin'?" demanded Zeke, "That rat-bag could bleed you and leave you to rot an' there'd be nothin' any o' us could do 'bout it, an' you're waltzin' into his bloody arms like a feline in heat!"

"I like him," shrugged Harry, "Aside from that, I want him,"

There was no doubt what exactly Harry wanted him for as his voice dropped an octave and his teeth dug into the side of his lip.

"That is more than a bit fucked up," Zeke said.

"I never claimed to be normal," Harry snapped back defensively.

"Ease up, cripes," Zeke said squeezing Harry's shoulder slightly, "S'your body, screw who you like with it, just keep in mind Shazza n' me wanna keep you around a bit longer an' Riddick is dangerous,"

Anger dissipating as quickly as it had come on Harry pouted exaggeratedly his bright eyes going as wide as he could make them.

"I'm dangerous too," he whined dramatically, letting his mouth pull into an exaggerated pout, "Why aren't you going off to warn Riddick about me?"

Zeke snorted and ruffled Harry's hair roughly.

"Oi!" Harry protested, ducking out from under Zeke's hold, "Do you think anyone else noticed that Riddick and I have been particularly touchy feely?" asked Harry suddenly serious.

"Nah, not even Shazza. If it weren't for knowin' 'bout you bein' sly and seein' that fight between you two, I wouldn't have even thought it," Zeke assured him, "Too much else to worry about without focusing on you n' Riddick,"

"Good," Harry said with a relieved nod of his head.

Things were complicated enough without giving Johns yet another reason to put a bullet in his brain.

"Suleiman, how're we doin'?" Zeke called as they approached the Chrislams.

Suleiman and Hassan were working together, both with identical looks of frustration on their usually Zen all-is-good faces.

Hassan said something in Arabic and then gave the water pump an easily translated look of disgust.

"No luck then," Harry said.

"Let's 'ave us a looksee," Zeke said moving over to the structure.

The water pump was a tall cylindrical sort of structure complete with what Harry was able to identify as a tap and thin, sleek looking solar panels to keep the thing running. Attached to it was a squat little cube of a building.

"What's that?" asked Harry pointing to it curiously.

"Hm?" Zeke looked up from the water dispenser to where Harry was pointing, "That'd be where they store the reservoir and filter rig. With a well pump like this one the water is pulled up from an underground source, it get's held in a reservoir tank, then this here, powers the filter units,"

"So what powers the actual pump part?"

"There're more solar panels on the roof of the shed there, see?"

"Yeah, seems simple enough. So can you tell what's wrong with it?"

"Nothin'," Zeke shrugged, "S'just been laid up for a long while, s'prolly got sand in funny places,"

The prospector reached up and gave the solar panels on top of the device a firm push and then pulled them back into place. He then disappeared into the shed for a minute and with a grating scrape and a moan of protest the strange corkscrew of solar panels began to turn. Slowly at first, making horrible groaning whines and then more smoothly. Suleiman and Hassan began to cheer babbling in Arabic they turned the tap into the open position and knelt on either side waiting with bated breath for the first drop of water.

Harry put both hands on the roof of the pump shed and with a grunt levered himself carefully on top of the structure and began using his sleeve to wipe the solar panels on the roof free of encrusting grime.

"How's it coming?"

Harry glanced over the edge of the pump to see Paris trotting up, his feet sliding in the loose sand that coated the hard-packed earth between buildings that served as a street in this place.

Zeke exited the shed and kicked the door shut behind him.

"Good," he told Paris, "It should only be a minute or two now afore we have water,"

Paris had two relatively clean looking jugs in hand, pillaged from someone's kitchen no doubt. Not wanting to talk to the supremely annoying man Harry continued to scrub at the solar panels even when Hassan let out a raucous cheer, informing him that they now had water. That was one relief anyway you could live for a month or more on nothing but water if you were healthy.

"Alright, alright, my turn," Paris insisted shooing the Chrislam boys out of his way.

Hassan and Suleiman, mouths still wet, dashed off to inform all sundry that they now had water, and Paris bent to fill up his pitchers, taking the occasional mouthful for himself.

It occurred to Harry that with Zeke occupied in going over the pump to make sure it was sound and everyone else working on fixing the ship or exploring the settlement this was his chance to get Paris alone. Maybe his only chance.

Harry hopped off the roof of the pump shed and moved stealthily back into the main settlement. He had a feeling that Paris wouldn't want to talk to him so he was going to need to provide the man with some incentive.

Harry ducked into one of the abandoned houses, moving through the dust covered rooms and pointedly ignoring the faint ghosts of the people who'd once lived there. The kitchen was easily located and Harry found an impressive looking kitchen knife with a half-decent edge on it. It wouldn't do much good if he really got into a fight but Paris wouldn't know that and would hopefully be suitably cowed.

Fry or Johns had apparently designated the diggers' mess hall to be the base camp, because the door was flung wide and someone had cracked the shutters to give the place an airing. Harry's money was on Imam. There was a makeshift tarp awning set up to shield the opening from the persistent rays of the sun and help preserve the building's cool darkness.

Paris sloshed a bit of water onto his pant leg as he slipped on the sand, and cursed, righting himself as he ducked inside the mess hall.

Harry slid inside the wonderfully shaded building hot on the other man's heels.

Harry did a quick check to make sure no one else was in the building, and felt the familiar tingle that told him he was being watched and who was watching him. He smiled slightly before slipping through the doorway between the entrance hall and the main mess hall, which consisted of a single large rough wood table ringed by a good number of equally basic chairs, letting the sudden increase in darkness alert Paris to his presence.

The antiquities dealer jumped a bit, when he turned around, frowning, and found Harry leaning casually against the wall.

"Bloody—Oh, it's you, you startled me,"

"Sorry, hey, you got a minute? I've been meaning to talk to you, but with everything…"

"Of course," said Paris adjusting his glasses and nervously glancing from one corner of the room to the next, searching for escape routes unless Harry missed his guess.

"I want to know more about where you bought me. What happened to the other statues? I assume that antiquities has to be a pretty select field in this day and age, you've probably got a good idea of who might have bought them,"

"Terribly sorry," he said dropping his eyes back to the mismatched glasses he'd filled with water, "But I can't help you, silent auction you know, quite impossible to—"

"Don't lie to me, Paris,"

"I'm not," he protested earnestly looking Harry straight in the eyes, before quickly dropping them again, "Look, there is this one buyer you can contact, a man named Malfoy, he's always involved when we get Terran artifacts from that period," he babbled, "Sorry, I can't be of more help, I don't know anything else,"

He made as if to pass Harry and slip out the door. Harry grabbed a fistful of his shirt and forcibly sat him down in one of the hard backed chairs that ringed the large table.

"I cannot be of anymore help, I'm sorry, but I don't know anything else!" he said his voice cracking as his hands began to shake.

"Paris," sighed Harry dramatically, dragging his fingertips along the edge of the rough wooden table as he slowly circled behind the trembling man, "I don't think you realize just what I'd be willing to do to get the information you're currently withholding from me. You see I've been hunting these bastards since I was fifteen years old, and I am not about to sit by and wait for them to get loose. Either you can tell me what I'd like to know, or," he reached behind him and drew the kitchen knife, making sure Paris got a good look at the still shiny blade before slamming it violently into the table, point first.

Paris flinched, not completely able to hold in a whimper.

"Or, I can make you tell me," Harry said in a low voice, barely above a whisper the implied threat was still very clear.

"Alright, alright yes, I'll tell you,"

"Good. Now, let's try this again. Tell me everything you know about the whereabouts of the other statues, Paris,"

"I don't know much," Paris started out by saying, hastily, "The statues were stolen artifacts, black market, scavenged from lord only knows where,"

"Azkaban island, about 20 miles off the coast of England in the northern Atlantic," Harry interjected somewhat lazily.

Paris cleared his throat swallowing nervously and dabbing at the beads of sweat running down his forehead with a silk handkerchief.

"Right, yes, well, the auction was very exclusive. One of my contacts, Bellarme, Gene Bellarme, alerted me to it. He was able to get me in as his club was hosting the auction; if there are still records of where the other statues were sold he would have them,"

"What is the name of this club and where can I find it?"

"The club is called Shax 23. It's on Kalderosa, in the seedier aspect of Wyndine, that is, one of the larger cities. Please, you have to believe me, that's all I know, I swear!"

It wasn't, Harry could see the deep dark secret lurking behind the lie in Paris' watery eyes but he didn't need the man's life story and he didn't care about whatever it was that he'd done at Shax 23, so he nodded, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

"Get going,"

Paris was quick to gather up his water pitchers and another bottle of wine.

"And Paris…"

The man stopped cold in the doorway.

"If Johns hears about our little chat keep in mind I know exactly who to blame, and I doubt he'll waste his energy protecting you from me,"

Paris swallowed hard, pale and sweating profusely, gave a jerky nod, and fled.

Harry turned to face the doorway that led to a large communal kitchen and leaned against the table, letting the corner of his lips lift in a knowing smirk.

"You can come out now,"

Riddick glided out of the shadows of the kitchen, his own grin wide and cocky as he sauntered over to the table and Harry.

"That was hot," Riddick said, "Even with this piece of shit," he added jerking the kitchen knife out of the table and tossing it aside contemptuously.

"I live to please," Harry said with a satisfied hum as Riddick moved closer, trapping him between his large body and the table.

"Got something for you,"

The shiv appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, a hand span of double-edged metal honed to razor sharpness and a tapered point with a grip wrapped in a sturdy canvas cloth. Riddick presented it to Harry handle first and Harry took it, twirling the small blade between his fingers deftly.

"A deadly weapon. You shouldn't have," Harry said teasingly but with a genuine smile as he tucked the blade between a fold of the bandages around his arm, the jut of the handle just touching his wrist.

Riddick ghosted the tips of his fingers along the faint blue tracery of the veins of Harry's unbound wrist and forearm, and Harry felt the heat of that touch course through his veins like a jolt of electricity.

The convict leaned in dragging his tongue and teeth lightly along the side of Harry's throat. Harry arched into the heat of the body pressing him into the table draping an arm around the back of Riddick's neck, urging him closer. He shifted his hips letting their lower bodies just brush each other before swiveling them away again.

"Tease," rumbled Riddick, amused.

His hands moved from the table to Harry's hips holding them in place as he ground against the smaller male more firmly. Making sure Harry felt every inch of his need.

"Want you," Harry groaned breathily, letting his nails graze down the back of Riddick's neck, enjoying the shudder of pleasure that rippled through that imposing frame.

"You can have as much of me as you can stand, sweetheart," Riddick promised leaning back in.

He paused, cocking his head, listening.

There was the scrape of boots on hard pack and sound of clamoring voices drawing nearer. Harry snarled in frustration letting his body fall backwards, his head hitting the wood of the table with a hollow thunk.

"Not helping," said Riddick with a low hungry groan, taking in the sight of the smaller man sprawled in front of him flushed with arousal, pupils wide.

Reluctantly he moved out from between Harry's legs with a fond parting smack to the brunet's thigh.

Rather than remaining splayed out across the table, Harry levered himself up and dropped into the nearest chair with a huff. His body still thrummed, arousal burning away the bone deep weariness that had begun to creep up on him making him want to fidget.

Imam was the first one in the tent, accompanied by a bouncy Hassan who disappeared back outside in the next minute shouting for the youngest member of the Chrislam trio.

Zeke and Shazza came next. Shazza had a bit of grease smudged on her cheek and had clearly been working on the guts of the ship out there, Zeke had an arm around her waist and was smiling at something she'd said.

He looked up taking note of Harry's sullen expression and Riddick's unnaturally still form lurking in a shadowy corner. Zeke arched a brow at his friend shaking his head slightly. Harry flashed him a mischievous grin in response.

"So this is where you've been hidin' out," Zeke said knowingly, handing Shazza a glass of water and taking one for himself.

"This is where the refreshments are," Harry said plucking a random glass from the array.

Shazza chuckled bit, settling into a chair as Fry and Johns walked in closely followed by Paris, who shot Harry a wary furtive glance as he set the pitchers, once again filled with water, on the table and chose the chair farthest from him in which to take a seat and nurse his precious wine.

Fry and Johns both found a glass and a chair, and took them gratefully.

"Praise be to Allah, for all of his many blessings upon us," said Imam jovially raising his glass in a toast and taking a deep draught.

Zeke snorted, but said nothing.

Just then Jack walked in and the room went quiet. The boy had shaved his head to stubble and with the repaired welding goggles pushed up onto his forehead it was clear who he was imitating.

"What?" demanded Jack picking up one of the glasses for himself.

"It's the winner of the lookalike contest," quipped Paris forcing a chuckle.

"Who were these people anyway?" Fry interjected cutting off whatever pithy, offensive retort Jack would have made, "Miners?"

"Nah," Zeke disagreed.

"Looks like geologists," Shazza said, "An advance team, moves from rock to rock,"

"Nice of them to leave so much stuff here," Fry said pointedly.

"Why did they leave their ship?" asked Harry following Fry's train of thought, pretty sure he already knew the answer to his own question.

"It's not a ship, it's a skif, and it's disposable really," John said defensively.

"It's more like an emergency life raft, right?" added Paris.

"They probably had a big drop ship take them off-planet," Shazza said determinedly.

"These people didn't leave, come on," Riddick interjected suddenly, "The things under the ground got them. They're all dead,"

While Harry agreed with Riddick's version of events he winced at the tactless delivery. Shazza glared at the convict.

"You don't think they left with their clothes on the hooks, their pictures on the shelves?" asked Riddick rhetorically, arching one condemning brow.

"They might've had weight limits, you don't know!" snapped Shazza.

"I know you don't prep your emergency ship unless there's a fucking emergency,"

"He's fucking right," Jack piped up.

"Watch your mouth," growled Johns.

Harry took a fortifying sip of his water. Watching out of the corner of his eye as an agitated looking Suleiman pulled Imam out of the building and thus the conversation.

"He's just saying what we're all thinking," snapped Fry.

"'Sides Shazza, the weight limits would have been the same on the drop off as on the pick-up. They couldn't have brought all this stuff here unless it was within their weight limits to begin with," Harry pointed out.

"So what happened to them? Where are they?" Fry demanded, looking to Riddick for an answer.

Riddick said nothing and the silence stretched in the mess hall.

Harry took another long pull from his glass savoring the feeling of the cool liquid sliding down his throat and feeling it slide further down, spreading coolness over his ribs and throughout his insides. It was heavenly. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh of pleasure, head tipping back slightly to expose his throat. He let the slight smirk play on his lips as he felt Riddick's attention focus on him rather than Fry and was unpleasantly surprised at the sudden buzzing jolt his magic gave him humming like angry bees in the back of his mind.

_EnemyEnemyEnemy_

He sat up, eyes popping open, brow furrowed in confusion and slight pain, letting his hand stray to his stomach as the sensation of nausea rolled through his torso like a slow wave.

_EnemyEnemyEnemy_

He let out an involuntary cry as the sensation intensified and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Sweetheart?"

"'Arry, you alright?"

"What's wrong with him?"

_GetitOutGetitOutGetitOut_

Harry's stomach roiled and lurched violently in time with his magic. He staggered to his feet unsteadily before dashing to the front door where he held himself upright against the door frame and was violently sick in the sand, bringing up all the water he'd just consumed.

His magic hummed in triumphant contentment having defeated its enemy.

Harry blinked away tears as he watched the watery mess he'd just brought up sunk back into the sand.

"Fuck!" he croaked, his throat raw, slamming a fist against the side of the building.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> And there you have it folks! Yes, I do know I'm evil, leaving it there after so long without an update. I'm okay with being evil. *grins*

Anyway, I've been meaning to address a comment I got awhile ago on the subject of **Hades and it's day**. So if you have no interest in astrophysics you can skip to the part where you review!

A planet's day is defined as the time it takes for it to make one full rotation on it's axis. Think of trying to spin a basketball on the tip of your finger, one turn of the ball on your finger equals one day. On Earth one day is 24 hours with the length of our daytime and nighttime varying by geography and season. Normally the time in our spin around the axis where we are facing away from the sun is nighttime, this is when it is dark out. On Hades, the three suns make it so that it is never dark, this is because when the planet spins such that you can no longer see the binary stars (red and yellow) you end up facing the blue star. Therefore, if the time spent rotating around the axis where you are exposed to the binary stars is daytime and the time spent exposed to the blue star is nighttime, one planetary day (from the planetside perspective) would be approximately one rising and setting of each sun cycle.

Hope this clears up any lingering doubts anyone might have been having!

Thanks for coming out guys, please remember to tip your author on the way out!

By that I of course mean, review!


	9. Chapter Eight: The Shadow of Death

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Eight: The Shadow of Death**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series

**Author's Note:** Woohoo! Update! Sorry about the wait guys!

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and favourite! Now on to the chapter!

* * *

><p>"Fuck," Harry repeated more quietly leaning heavily against the door frame.<p>

"Harry!"

Shazza and Zeke were at his side in an instant. Shazza checked him for a fever and Zeke plucked the small flashlight from her belt to shine it into Harry's eyes.

"Is he going to be alright?" asked Jack, his voice a good octave higher than normal, "What's wrong with him?"

"Get that damn light out of my eyes," Harry growled shrugging them both off, "I'm fine."

Zeke shot him a look.

"Alright, I'm not exactly fine," Harry conceded, "But I'm done puking my guts out and I feel better now."

"Well you don't have a fever," Shazza said with a huff.

"Pupil dilation s'all normal s'well," Zeke added tucking the flashlight back into his partner's tool belt.

"See?" Harry said, "Fine."

"Healthy people do not blow their chunks from 'ere to Xerxes Sector," growled Shazza.

"Does anybody else feel sick or nauseous?" Johns demanded.

"Fuck!" Fry exclaimed suddenly causing the group to whip around wide eyed and stare at her.

Paris even took a few solicitous steps back in case she decided to lose what passed for her lunch.

"What is it?" asked Johns, a hand strayed to his gun.

"He hasn't been inocked," Fry announced grimly, gesturing to where Harry still leaned against the outer wall of the mess hall.

"Fuck!" Shazza swore even more violently.

"What?" Harry demanded urgently, "What does that mean, inocked?"

"Inoculated," Zeke explained, "Ev'ry planet spinnin' with a half-decent atmo has bugs, some of 'em are pretty nasty too, so to keep the system-wide pandemics to a minimum the Company made inoculations 'gainst the common ones planetary standard and anyone travelling out of system has to 'ave a broad spectrum inock every three months."

"Makes sense," said Harry with a nod.

"You've never been inocked you don't have the standard immunizations, hell, you don't even have any natural immunity because it's been thousands of years since you were exposed to a pathogen. In your state a common cold could kill you just as easily as one of the fancy bioweapons the Company cooks up," Fry said with a disgusted sigh.

"There's a med-bay set up, I bet they have standard inocks, those damn things only expire 'cause the bugs are constantly evolvin'" Shazza said.

"Better than nothing," Fry agreed, "Johns, you said you were recovering from a bug, could Harry have picked it up from you?"

"Could be, but it doesn't look like he's got what I had," shrugged the so-called lawman noncommittally.

Harry was trying to figure out the best way to explain that he couldn't catch the same diseases as the rest of them because of a magically enhanced immune system without actually mentioning the whole magic bit when Imam came running up to them looking frantic and out of breath.

Hassan and Suleiman scrambled up in his wake coming from different ends of the settlement, shaking their heads and babbling softly in Arabic they shot the group anxiously pleading looks.

"Has anyone seen Ali, my youngest boy?" he panted, "Please, we have searched everywhere—"

"Has anyone checked the coring room?" asked Riddick laconically, interrupting.

The still desert air was suddenly shattered by a ragged shriek of fear and pain.

Imam wheeled around and was already running before the cry broke off. Harry followed hot on his heels for the first stretch and then easily outstripped him. He hit the double doors of the coring room hard enough to make the hinges groan and creak, snarling furiously at the chains that held them shut. If he'd been at full strength the doors would have burst open of their own accord before he'd even reached them. He kicked them again for good measure the gesture more cathartic than fruitful.

Imam was right behind him yanking futilely on the padlock with all his desperate strength.

"Move!" snapped Johns, gun free.

Harry and Imam slid out of range and Johns fired, his gauge blowing apart the chains and the locking mechanism in one go leaving the doors swinging.

Imam shouldered past the merc who didn't take more than a few steps into the coring room, his scope-light sweeping across the room searchingly.

Harry moved to follow him without hesitation. Riddick caught Harry by the arm his grip tight enough to bruise.

"Don't," he ordered.

Harry didn't even spare the convict a glance as he slipped free of his hold and followed Imam into the darkness of the coring room.

He spared a second to thank Hermione for the thousandth time for convincing him to undergo the experimental procedure that had healed his eyes as they adjusted to the dim lighting more quickly than a normal person's.

"Ali?" whispered Imam creeping forward.

There was a small skittering noise.

"Ali?"

"Imam don't!" hissed Harry moving to grab the chrislam's arm before the man opened the door as his ears caught the faintest hint of a trilling hiss.

The warning came too late as Imam yanked the door to the supply closet open.

The creatures came flooding out, hissing and chittering angrily at the shaft of dusty second-hand sunlight that penetrated their dark lair. Harry and Imam both let out surprised cries as the multitude of small winged creatures swarmed past them, moving as one.

Thinking quickly Harry grabbed Imam and pressed them both into the floor. Harry heard a woman's scream, either Fry or Shazza, and a man's alarmed shout. Johns' gun went off once, then a second time and a third as the creatures circled overhead.

Suddenly the shrieking, hissing, and trilling chitters faded away.

"Where did they go?" Jack asked fearfully.

"Down the shaft," Johns answered.

To their right in the direction of the supply closet Imam and Harry heard a soft thud, like a body hitting sand.

Imam rolled Harry off him scrambling on hands and knees toward the supply closet. A broken sob fell from his lips.

"Ali…"

The youngest chrislam boy had been reduced to bones and kite tails of shredded flesh and clothing. In less than a minute the nest of small creatures had turned a healthy young boy into table scraps.

"Harry!" called Shazza, "Harry, Imam! Are you both alright?"

Harry drew in a shuddering breath and tamped down on his unruly emotions blinking back the moisture that had come to his eyes.

"We're both alive Shazza, and uninjured."

Harry watched as will shaking hands and tears streaming quietly down his ruddy brown face Imam covered what remained of his youngest charge in his outer robe. It was a dark rusty red color and made of soft cotton, perfect for absorbing the blood. There was so much blood still, making the sand sticky and dark. Ali had clearly still been alive when the creatures had torn into him.

"Ali is dead. The creatures ate him."

This statement drew another broken cry from Imam who clutched at his stomach as if he was in pain and began rocking on his knees in the sand, Arabic prayers spilling forth from his mouth in a ragged musical chant.

Harry levered himself to his feet barely registering the feel of rough sand underneath his hands. He emerged into the light provided by Johns' scope and the two older chrislam boys broke out of Zeke's restraining hold and dashed into the darkness from which Harry had just emerged, dismayed and grieving cries telling Harry just when they'd reached Imam and Ali.

"What were those things?" demanded Paris.

"The same things that did this," Harry answered tiredly, holding up his bandaged arm, "Except I think they were hatchlings from their size. This must be one of their nesting sites."

"Is Ali really dead?" asked Jack in a small voice.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to the younger boy, not knowing what else he could say.

All the experience in the world did not make dealing with grieving friends and family of the recently deceased any easier.

Imam, Suleiman, and Hassan appeared then, carrying their youngest member between them. Ali's body was swaddled in Imam's outer robe sparing Jack and the two women the gruesome sight of his mangled flesh.

"Come on," Paris said quickly, "Best not linger here any longer, let us pay our respects."

He led an unprotesting Jack away from the coring room and into the blazing sunlight with a firm grip on the boy's thin shoulders.

"Jesus god," hissed Fry suddenly.

She and Johns had inched forward warily and were now peering down the coring shaft. Johns looked perturbed and Fry had gone completely white and was trembling faintly.

Harry, Zeke, and Shazza all moved over to see for themselves what was so frightening. The coring shaft was littered with dozens of bleached white human skeletons.

"Bloody oath," breathed Shazza wide-eyed.

Zeke wrapped an arm around her waist drawing her close against his side and pressing an affirming kiss to her hair.

"What happened here?" asked Fry quietly moving stiffly from the side of the coring shaft to trail her fingers over old coring samples picking up tags and reading dates to distract herself.

"Why was the door chained up? What in the bloody hell would make them lock themselves in like that?"

"Not sure," Johns answered, holstering his weapon snorting uneasily, "Tell you what though, best get the chrislams back in here and tell them they've got no need to waste time on digging another grave."

"The other buildings weren't secure," said Riddick moving suddenly from where he was leaning against the door frame, casual as you please, "So they came here. Thickest walls, heaviest doors. They thought they'd be safe inside."

"They were wrong," said Harry softly.

"Someone forgot to lock the back door," smirked Riddick, darkly amused, delivering the cutting truth in a voice like rum and crushed velvet.

Harry shivered.

"You two get," Zeke ordered into the long silence that followed, "Me n' Johns'll board this place up."

Moving on autopilot Harry and Shazza did as ordered, stepping out into a blue sunrise and squinting at the glare.

In the distance the chrislams were gathered together and the faint lilt of their voices could be heard carried on the slight wind.

Jack was standing in the middle of the street staring at nothing and Paris was walking back towards the mess hall occasionally pausing to take a long draught from his latest bottle.

"That officially make it three days," Harry said, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip as he watched the sunrise.

Shazza hummed in agreement. She hesitated a moment looking over at Riddick who had followed them out and was leaning in the shade of the coring room.

In a few fluid motions she had her O2 rig unclipped from her belt and shrugged off her shoulder and she held the silver construction out to the convict.

"What?" sneered Riddick, "Is it broken?"

"Nah, got a couple of good hits left."

"So why are you giving it to me?"

"Maybe I've decided that I'd like our deadliest fighter in top form now that I've seen what these things can do," snorted Shazza, "Didn't you want me Zeke's rig? Wasn't that why you attacked him and Harry? Take it. I'm starting to get acclimated at any rate."

Riddick took two hits in quick succession and then held the rig back out to her with a foxlike grin.

"Jack's been sneaking me hits."

Shazza took back the construction with a snort and a short chuckle.

"Our Jackie boy is smarter and more trouble than any of us give him credit for. After all t'was him what set this one loose," she said nudging Harry pointedly with the curve of one rounded hip, "Speakin' of, you holdin' up alright?"

"I should be asking you that," Harry said, "I've seen deaths a hundred times more gruesome than that."

"Well I asked you first, so spill it."

Harry considered his answer for a long moment taking in the numbness in his fingers and toes and the way his head felt like it was in the process of floating away from his body.

"Been better, it's always harder when it's a kid that gets caught up in this kind of thing. I'll be okay, I just need to sleep for a couple of hours, or decades," Harry said smiling ruefully, "You'd think after a couple of millenia I'd've slept enough."

Shazza interlaced their fingers and squeezed briefly. Harry barely felt the contact.

It was almost like his fingers were asleep, vague pins and needles shooting up his arm where skin met skin. Harry gave her a wan smile and gently urged her in the direction of a lost looking Jack. Ali had been his friend and around his age. The tough-talking pre-teen looked to be taking his death hard and needed her comfort more that he did and besides that he simply didn't want to worry her.

"Look to Jack, I'm just gonna make like Paris, find a bunk and crash out for a couple of hours."

With a nod and another brief squeeze of his hand Shazza did as he'd asked.

Shazza and Zeke had come to care for him over the past three or so days, and they were observant, he would rather die suddenly and quietly than have them spend the last hours of his life hovering and mourning. He would die. He realized and he had accepted that. A body just couldn't function for more than three days without water. It wasn't possible, no matter how much magic a person had and he was running painfully low as it was, just because he hadn't been feeling it until now didn't mean it wasn't happening.

Harry watched Shazza ruffle Jack's new prickle of peach fuzz, murmuring low words. Jack nodded slightly leaning into her touch.

Together Shazza and Jack disappeared into one of the many empty dwellings leaving Harry and Riddick alone in the middle of what passed for a street for the moment.

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed as he found himself unceremoniously hauled off his feet and tossed over the convict's broad shoulder.

The view was pretty damn good but Harry was not at all comfortable with Riddick's shoulder sending the air whooshing out of his poor abused diaphragm every other step.

"Put me down, Shrek!" he grumbled breathlessly, squirming.

"What the motherfucking hell was that!" demanded Riddick setting Harry on his feet next to a house far enough away from the beaten track that they weren't likely to be happened upon by any of the others and taking a bruising hold of the wizard's bicep.

"You're hurting my arm," Harry snapped.

Riddick shoved him into the side of the building hard enough to make the plastic groan and rob Harry of his breath for a minute.

"Why did you do it?"

"None of your damn business!" Harry snarled back at Riddick twisting out of the bigger man's hold as easily as if he was made of water, "You're not my keeper and if I want to throw myself into danger there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me!"

Riddick made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat as Harry turned on his heel and stalked away from him and, moving at speeds a cheetah would envy, he recaptured the smaller male shoving his face into the wall this time and pinning him there firmly.

"Ugh," Harry groaned seeing spots, "Don't do that."

"Then answer my question," Riddick said, no longer shouting but still clearly pissed off, "You're a killer, sweetheart, you knew the second you heard that scream that the kid was already dead and there was fuck all you could do about it, so why?"

"Imam's a stand up bloke who doesn't deserve to be ripped to shreds and eaten, how about that?" Harry snarked.

"Better, now try again with the whole truth," the bigger man said softly against the shell of Harry's ear biting down briefly hard enough to leave marks.

Harry shivered the small twinge from the bite going straight to his cock. No longer fighting Riddick's hold Harry arched back into him. He craned his neck to look him in the eye his mouth twisting into a wide grimly satisfied smile.

"You're a killer love, a better one than me most probably, and you knew the second I walked through that door just exactly what the game was, so let's just say that's enough bullshit out of the both of us, yeah? I'm a dead man walking Riddick. You wanna fight or do you wanna make it worth my while to stick around this hellhole for a few hours longer? Either is fine with me," Harry all but purred as he slid himself up Riddick's body and draped an arm lazily around his neck.

"Am I gonna catch something nasty?" Riddick asked, bending his head to let lips, tongue and teeth trail slowly along the exposed side of smaller man's long neck.

"Mm, nope," hummed Harry as he dug his nails into the back of Riddick's neck hard enough to break skin in payment for the implied insult, "Cryo-sickness, can't drink or eat anything and I've been – oh, mm, yes, there – t-trekking through thi-isss fucking desert for three days."

It was a roundabout way of explaining that he'd spent so much time as rock that his magic couldn't tell that he was once again flesh and blood and needed things like food, water, oxygen and sleep. It didn't help that water and stone were natural enemies. Still it was mostly true from a certain point of view and had the added benefit of being a completely muggle justification.

Harry hissed and then moaned long and loud, pain and pleasure mixing into a heady cocktail as Riddick took a bruising hold on his hips, spun him around so that they were face to face, and then slammed him back against the side of the house with his arms pinned above his head by one large capable hand as the other slid down between his thighs.

Harry gave up on all pretense of discretion and outright keened as he strained against Riddick to arch into that maddening touch and get more friction.

"Mmm, you are so fucking hot, sweetheart," Riddick said in a low rumbling groan.

The slash on his arm was bleeding again, and a sluggish trickle escaped Imam's bandages to draw a thin crimson river along the underside of his forearm. Riddick's tongue was there in an instant and the murderer shuddered, his eyes half-lidding. Reaction enough to let Harry know the other man could feel the magic in his blood just as somehow he could see it hovering just below his skin.

"I could eat you alive and be the happiest motherfucker this side of anywhere," Riddick breathed huskily.

"I know a good place to start," Harry said smirking and bucking shamelessly into the hand massaging his cock through his pants.

Riddick laughed a little, that low purring chuckle that gave Harry the tingles in all the right places, and green eyes glazed over with burning want.

Harry slipped Riddick's hold with minor difficulties and a lot of frustrated noises and then made quick work of the zipper on the man's cargo pants. The convict went commando, unsurprising and an entirely welcome turn of events for Harry who wrapped his smaller long-fingered hand around Riddick's length and stroked.

Riddick pressed him harder into the wall.

Each touch and kiss burned until it felt like Riddick was going to permanently branded into his skin. Moaning keens and grunts mixed with pained hisses, rumbling laughter, and cries for more, harder, right there. Dizzily Harry was vaguely aware of being lifted and he automatically hooked his legs around Riddick's waist not letting up in his exploration of the murderer's mouth.

His back hit hardwood covered something softer, a blanket maybe. Harry kicked off his borrowed boots and they knocked something over with a soft crash he couldn't be bothered to investigate.

Riddick rucked his shirt up over his head and tossed it aside and Harry had just enough time to consider that Riddick had planned on getting into his pants sooner rather than later before the convict was on him again. Hot desert air ghosted over the bare skin of his thighs followed by large eminently capable hands and Harry cried out losing himself in the pleasure.*

Harry was feeling hazier then even the afterglow of the most amazing sex of his life could account for only the fleeting skitter of sensation as Riddick mapped a path over his ribs, across one highly sensitized nipple and over the fragile column of his throat kept him from sinking into that dark haze of weakness and cotton fluff completely. For the moment at least.

Riddick bit and sucked hard at his throat adding another garish red-purple splotch to the line of hickeys Harry was sure that he now sported.

"How long?" he asked the low rumble next to Harry's ear seeming very far away.

"Not long now," Harry answered with a sleepy sigh pressing himself more firmly against his bedmate, "It's gettin' cold."

"You seem awfully calm."

"Why should I fear Death?" snorted Harry as if the very notion was ludicrous, his eyes blinking slowly half-open and then shutting again as if the effort was all too much, "M'not fuckin' Voldemort. 'Sides, if I had to pick a time, place n' way it'd be somethin' like this."

Riddick hummed an agreement as he traced spirals along the jut of a hipbone and the strong line of the muscled thigh that hooked over his leg.

"Riddick?"

"Mmm?"

"Stay with me, just 'til I fall asleep?"

"I'll be right here," he promised.

"Thanks."

Harry's lashes fluttered and the wizard let out a huge sigh, his lips curving in a deceptively innocent satisfied smile and then he stilled. His breathing slowed and his heartbeat got slower and then fainter and fainter until even Riddick could barely hear it. The scent of static electricity faded from the air and the glow faded out from underneath Riddick's stroking hands.

"Sweetheart?"

There was no response. Riddick bit down on Harry's neck again, hard enough to draw blood this time. There was barely a spark in the flavour, whereas just an hour before the small dark-haired killer had tasted like tame lightning.

The illusion of an easy sleep with good dreams was just that, an illusion. That sleep was not the sleep of the peaceful at all. It was the long sleep. The sleep that was quickly draining all the life and fire from his little lover.

"C'mon, sweetheart, open those baby greens."

It wasn't quite a plea, though it was certainly a demand, and even as softly as he'd uttered the words, even if the naked beauty curled into his side hadn't heard them, the fact that they'd entered his brain at all much less passed his lips was more than a little unsettling.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Another cliffie...eh, I never claimed to be nice!

Okay so, now for my excuses!

Again I'll apologize for the time it took me to get this update up. I had the first half all done up months ago and then some rat bastard pulled a smash and grab and took my laptop from my car taking all of my works-in-progress with him (or her) as well as my copy of the Pitch Black movie (which I have yet to replace). Re-writing this chapter was slow going especially as I had to edit out some of the yummier bits due to the site rules (I'll be posting the full MA version of this fic somewhere at some point so check author's notes and my profile for that if you're 18+ years of age), and I still think the first draft was better. Ah well, la vie.

In other news I have accepted an offer from Jyalika to have this fic translated into Russian (Squee!) so if you have any interest in reading that stay tuned and I'll let you guys know when it's up!

Alright I'll let you guys get back to your regularly scheduled programming now, please feel free to drop me a review on your way out! See you on the next go around!


	10. Chapter Nine: Rejoin the Living

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Nine: Rejoin the Living**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the Pitch Black Series.

**Author's Note:** *Waves nervously* hey guys, wow, long time no see, about six months right? Thanks to everybody who alerted, followed and reviewed! This chapter goes out to Eirial, who gives wonderful reviews and whose PM helped me get this chappie finished. Bow down before her. Now, on to the story!

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><p>When Harry woke he felt awful.<p>

His head was throbbing dully and knew better than to open his eyes right away.

His mouth tasted like it was filled with sand, his entire body was one big bruise, his magic was buzzing fretfully through him and a half-remembered dream of padding naked through the fog swirling through King's Cross station and catching glimpse of another figure in the mist made him aware of just how close a call he'd had.

He shifted slightly and groaned as his muscles protested.

Well, at least he wasn't actually dead. He thought to himself and then, gritting his teeth he shifted again, getting ready to think about sitting up.

The surface beneath him had no give. He'd been sleeping on the table then. The table he and Riddick had fucked like rabbits on. A salacious grin crossed his features at the remembrance. He burned a bit around the edges and there was at tender ache deep inside him informing him that bedroom gymnastics like the ones he and Riddick had engaged in required proper lube. He wasn't surprised to find that when he reached out to feel for a second body on the table Riddick was gone. He was incredibly surprised to find that the murderer had taken the time to clean him up a bit and find his pants.

He opened his eyes a crack and was relieved to find that the shutters were up and it was nearly completely dark in the house. With the risk of impending blindness determined to be zero Harry opened his eyes fully, clumsily brushing the grit from them and blinking as they acclimatized to the dimness.

It was then the he noticed the slight pull and sting at his left arm. He turned his head to the side, frowning.

He was hooked up to a very sketchy looking makeshift IV. It was little more than a bag of some clear fluid hanging from the ceiling on a coat hanger and some wire and the small needle was wiggling in the crook of his elbow from all the shifting about. Harry tugged that out with a grimace and pressed his thumb down on the spot for a minute to stop the bleeding.

Slowly he sat up, rolling his neck to ease some of the stiffness there and feeling his vertebrae pop slightly as he stretched, there was a bit of dizziness but that passed quickly enough. He stood up carefully trying to suss out what his range of painless motion was. He soon discovered that there was no painless motion. If it wasn't muscle soreness it was bruising. He had some very pretty black ones blooming on his bicep and hips in the shape of Riddick's hands. His wrists were toast at this point, it was impossible to tell where one bruise began and the other one ended. There were extra tender spots on his back from where he'd been slammed into walls, tables, and the floor and there were hickeys everywhere.

Damn, they'd both gotten more than a little carried away. There would be no hiding those.

The ones dotting his chest and collarbone and the undersides of his arms likely paled in comparison to the ones on his neck and shoulders, not to mention the ones peppering his hips and the insides of his thighs he even spotted one above his left ankle. Merlin. Riddick was nothing if not thorough and the entire business of marking him so clearly smacked of possessiveness that it brought a soft pleased smile to Harry's lips.

Staggering to his feet Harry dragged himself over to where he spotted his boots. He'd knocked a picture off the wall when he'd kicked them off and he took a moment to pick it up. Staring up at him were two men, brothers from the look of them, in winter gear crouched around a fire. The one was holding a rock and grinning goofily the other was visibly rolling his eyes.

Carefully Harry hung the picture back on its nail, flashing the brothers a smile that was sheepish and apologetic at the same time.

"Sorry mates, but to be fair you're not using the place anymore, right? I'm gonna borrow some kit if you don't mind."

It never hurt to be polite, after all, you never knew if a person was completely crossed over or not.

Harry gathered up his boots and he set them side by side near the table. Then he made his way out of the kitchen and into the small bedroom. The twin mattresses, one shoved up against each wall, were covered in sand and there were holes in the bedding that hinted that they might be home to more than just bedbugs. Harry wrinkled his nose, glad now that Riddick had chosen to make creative use of kitchen table.

In the closet there were a couple of items made of some synthetic fibre the local insect population couldn't consume that looked like they might fit and be cooler than his current attire. Carefully Harry pulled on the loose sleeveless shirt and a pair of grey pants in the same pseudo-cargo style that Zeke and Riddick both favoured.

He padded back into the kitchen. There was a pitcher of tepid water and a glass sitting on the counter accompanied by what looked like one of those diet bars his aunt had been obsessed with for a short while. Another gift from Riddick no doubt.

Harry was either a better lay then Julien had ever given him credit for or Riddick wasn't as indifferent to people as he pretended to be.

Tentatively Harry took a small sip of water and waited. A minute passed. Then three. Then five. Nothing. No sudden nausea, no violent protests from his magic. Harry grinned and took another gulp before cracking open the vacuum packed bar and nibbling off a corner.

He grimaced. It even tasted like his aunt's diet bars, dry and chewy with no real flavour to speak of. Still food was food and his stomach was beginning to gnaw at him reminding him that he hadn't eaten for a couple thousand years. He downed half the pitcher of water before he got a rein on his common sense, no sense overdoing it.

Still nibbling, Harry stamped into his boots and left the relatively cool darkness of the house for the blinding sunlight and oppressive heat of outside.

The binary stars were blazing overhead and Harry figured he'd been out of it for at least eighteen hours, probably more. He shaded his eyes looking for the roof of the coring room to orient himself and then headed towards the centre of the settlement.

He wondered what Riddick had told the others, if he'd said anything at all. Riddick wasn't the type to volunteer information though so Harry doubted he'd said much of anything. Still, Harry reflected glumly, he should probably have said something to Zeke or Shazza about being on the verge of death. If Riddick hadn't saved him he would have inadvertently pinned another murder on the man's head and he was almost certain Zeke and Shazza would have done their level best to return the favor.

Come to think of it that was probably why Riddick had gone through the bother of even attempting to save him. It made more sense than the notion that the brutally independent and perpetually uncaring man had developed a fondness for him in the day and half they'd spent together and their one round of athletic 'last day on Earth' sex.

Fascination, possessiveness and a strong survival instinct, had spurred Riddick to his actions and Harry could only hope it was enough to secure him a repeat performance.

He couldn't deny that on his side of things feelings of fondness, possessiveness, and, oddly enough, security had grown to mingle with the attraction he felt for the murderer, but it had always been like this for Harry. He got attached to people almost too easily and once attached he was difficult to dislodge. Zeke, Shazza, Jack, Riddick and even to some extent Imam, his boys, and Fry, they were all he had in the world now.

The thought was both terrifying and comforting.

Merlin but he missed Ron, and Hermione, Luna, Neville, Malfoy, Julien, Tonks, Teddy, the Weasleys…Harry shook his head to clear it. They were lost to him. They'd been lost to him for a long time before he'd come to this forsaken planet. He couldn't afford to lose sight of what he had here and now, because it was all he had anywhere.

A sudden noise broke Harry from his brooding thoughts, and he frowned. Someone was growling in a low, angry voice, as though he didn't want to be overheard.

Moving stealthily, Harry crept forward to get a better look.

Zeke, practically bristling with barely contained anger and worry, had cornered Riddick and had a fistful of his black shirt clenched in his hand.

"Where is 'Arry? What 'ave you done with 'im?"

"Nothing," Riddick answered, arching a brow.

"M'not an idiot y'know! I can see the marks on yer damn neck! I know the two of you've been fuckin' 'round so I'll ask you again, where is he? It's been more'n half the bloody day an' he's still not back, what 'ave you done!"

"Nothing he didn't enjoy," said Riddick unconcernedly.

He glanced over Zeke's shoulder to where Harry was watching the proceedings with an amused expression still gnawing away at his breakfast.

"Sweetheart, you gonna deal with this?" demanded Riddick, clearly annoyed with Zeke but not willing to deal with Harry's wrath if he took matters into his own hands.

Zeke's eyes widened and he released Riddick in a heartbeat, whipping around and pinning Harry with an accusatory look.

"You!" he said, pointing, "Where 'ave you been? Shaz n' me 'ave been out of our 'eads with worryin'!"

Harry gave Zeke his best innocently contrite look.

"Would you believe me if I said I'd been sleeping it off?" he said, not really lying but not really telling the truth either.

If he mentioned the nearly dying thing it would just upset Zeke and he was fine now anyway so no harm no foul.

"I would," leered Riddick, "I'm amazed you can even walk."

Zeke wrinkled his nose, but Harry knew that was more than just a dig about the sex.

"I didn't need to know that," he said with a grimace, "How're ya feelin' anyway – besides the sexin' bit! You were tossin' cookies yesterday, are you alright?"

He could almost feel Riddick's attention sharpen. The murderer probably wanted to know if he was going to end up on the brink of death at the drop of a hat again.

Harry grinned brightly.

"I feel like absolute shit, I'm hungry, thirsty, a little breathless, sore as fuck, and strangely enough still brilliantly horny! In other words, I'm fan-bloody-tastic!" he said.

Zeke grimaced again, and shook his head wonderingly.

"Yer not a bit sarcastic sayin' that, are ya?" he asked rhetorically, "Was it just a 'bout of cryo-sickness then?"

Zeke, Harry thought a bit wonderingly, was a lot more perceptive then people probably gave him credit for with his rough manner and thick accent.

"Yeah, I think so, I'm…reset?" Harry shrugged, "I feel more human anyway."

"You look like you went ten rounds with a marchii sucker and lost pathetically," Zeke said bluntly his dark eyes following the line of kiss marks down the one side of his neck across his throat and back up again, "Thought ya were gonna be careful 'bout this."

Harry felt rather than saw Riddick shift from his peripheral to stand behind him.

"Meant to I just got carried away a bit, and then I couldn't find a high collared shirt," Harry said sheepishly as Riddick gave Zeke a predatory grin over his shoulder and his fingers traced a path up his bare arm from the wrist and then across the back of his neck.

Harry shivered a bit at the sensation and the intensity of Riddick's gaze, gooseflesh rising on his skin that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the aforementioned horniness.

"That's good," said Zeke with a firm nod.

Harry blinked, surprised that Zeke thought so too, and then he remembered what they'd been talking about and tried to focus on clearing the fog of lust from his brain shooting a reproachful look over his shoulder at the escaped convict.

"Cap'n's got a bit of a worry on. Thinks there's more going on than just the things under the ground. Dunno whether she's right or not but we've got the wings near to patched, an' Shaz n' Jack've been workin' on the sand cat so s'runnin' now. Wouldn't've wanted you to sleep through us leavin' yer ass here ta rot."

"Nope," agreed Harry, "That would've sucked. Say it Riddick, and watch what happens," he added turning to pin the murderer with a warning look.

Riddick grinned at the challenge and opened his mouth anyway but Zeke interrupted.

"'Nough with the flirty you two, bloody hell, we're inna middle of a crisis here 'case you hadn't noticed!" he groaned, "C'mon let's get back to th'others, leastaways the sight o' Johns an' Paris'll keep you both from eye-fuckin' 'chother to death an' Shazza can give you a good n' proper scoldin'."

The three men moved away from their out of the way corner back to the main road of the settlement. The doors of the coring room were thrown wide open, letting the light stream in, and Johns was pacing near the entrance to the room looking unsettled and unhappy.

Harry could just make out the blue shimmer of Fry's clothing in the interior.

"What's she looking for?" asked Harry curiously.

"The why," answered Riddick with an amused little huff.

"The why?" queried Harry, nudging the bigger man with a hip when he didn't seem inclined to explain his cryptic statement.

"She's a bit like you, trying to solve the mystery," grunted Riddick, "There's a piece missing in this whole picture. Why did the things under the ground wait so long before attacking the settlement? Gotta be a reason right? If they were gonna attack, if they weren't able to resist a good meal, and never mind the light, why did the diggers have time to get themselves set up in their huts? Start their research? And the diggers they were in and out of caves and holes all the time most like, they had to have known that the things were around, so why did they stay so long? Why? Why? Why?"

It was probably the longest set of words Zeke had heard Riddick string together at once, and despite the feral delight in the measured cadence of the low-voiced explanation, despite the mocking tone, Riddick's explanation made sense and raised further, more unsettling questions.

"More reason to get the fuck out of 'ere, right the fuck now if we could manage it," he said with a sigh.

"Well," interrupted Paris, reeking of expensive wine and sweaty silk, "Look who finally decided to turn up."

"Aww, Paris, you miss me?" shot Harry.

"Not in the least," muttered Paris, annoyed, taking a swig from his ever-present bottle.

He'd switched back to hard liquor, Harry noticed, and had a half-full bottle of water in his satchel as well.

"Ah, my friend, are you well?" asked Imam with polite weariness.

Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, the holy man hadn't slept easily, and really why would he?

"Better, and you Imam? How're you holding up?" he asked.

"There have been better days," Imam admitted his eyes straying off into the distance, over to where he and the other two boys had buried Ali against the sunrise.

Harry squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"It'll get better," he offered, "Just give it some time."

Imam squeezed back and gave Harry a faint smile.

"You have a surprising amount of wisdom to you, for one so young."

"You stupid fuckin' asshole!" Shazza spat in direct contradiction to Imam's statement, the holy man showed his own wisdom by backing away from the woman stomping over to them from the shed across the way with a multi-tool clenched in her white-knuckled fist, after all, hell hath no fury, "I've been worried sick! You've been gone for hours, no one knew where you were, coulda been bones in a hole somewhere, and here you are waltzin' around lookin' like that—"

Paris took another closer look at him and swore, looking faintly disgusted.

Harry threw Zeke a hunted look over his shoulder, but the bigger man just crossed his arms over his chest and arched one bushy black brow. Shazza shook violently her eyes flashing in a combination of fury and relief.

She grabbed him by the front of his borrowed shirt and tugged him closer to her bringing the multi-tool up under his neck threateningly.

"If you ever disappear on me like that again I will gut you from stem to stern and leave you for the scavengers," she hissed furiously, "Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry agreed eyeing her makeshift weapon warily.

"Damn straight!" she said and then she threw her arms around him and hugged him with enough force to make his ribs creak.

Harry squeezed back wincing as she poked at some of his tender spots.

"Tch. Girls," scoffed Jack, and Harry watched over Shazza's shoulder as he leaned himself against the nearby folding table covered in scraps of vectran, but he was scowling so pointedly that Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Good to know you missed me too tough guy," he laughed.

That earned him a deeper scowl and the one fingered salute.

As abruptly as Shazza had latched onto him she released him, rounding upon Riddick.

"And you! You knew where he was this whole time, why didn't you say anything?" she snapped.

"Wasn't any of your business," Riddick said with a laconic shrug, "Didn't think I needed to post an announcement on the fucking community board."

Harry winced at Riddick's tactlessness and put a hand on the bristling Shazza's arm, offering her the same sheepish smile he'd used on Zeke.

"After all the, uh—"

"Exertion, activity, excitement," suggested Riddick mockingly as Harry reached for the appropriate word.

"Shut up," Harry waved him off, flushing a bit, "After everything that happened the last few days, I just kind of passed out, it's my fault really. I've really just been asleep this whole time."

Harry shot Riddick another warning look, the convict had played along so far but he didn't want Zeke and Shazza getting wind of how he'd been planning to slink off to die without telling them and the sex had been more incidental than anything.

"Don't let it happen again," she warned pinning both him and Riddick with twin glares.

"Can we not talk about this?" demanded Paris, "It's bad enough that his neck is a glaring neon sign without carrying on about it."

It looked like Imam might have taken Paris to task over his lack of an open mind but the whole group turned, distracted, when John's let out an exasperated shout.

"Is that supposed to mean something Carolyn?"

"Let us go and see what it is the captain has discovered," Imam suggested and the whole group moved to follow Fry and Johns across the sand into the orrery.

"What's going on then?" asked Shazza, a bit sharply.

She was still frazzled.

"The coring samples the geologists took are dated, the last one was 22 years ago, this month," Fry answered, "I have a hunch…gods, I hope I'm wrong."

She moved to the model in the centre of the room and began to turn it manually. The click, click, click, of the model's gears was unnaturally loud in the room as they all waited for Fry's explanation.

"Seventeen…" she muttered under her breath watching the counter click over, "Eighteen…nineteen…twenty…twenty-one…twenty-two…fuck."

The planets, stars and moons had all aligned very nearly perfectly. The ringed planet between its moon, Hades, and the binary stars while on the other side the blue planet that had been moving in an up and down ellipse was blocking out the light of the blue star.

"An eclipse," she whispered, wide-eyed, moving the model forward further.

The planets remained in alignment.

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" asked Riddick teasingly.

"This would be that why you were talkin' 'bout afore, right?" said Zeke grimly, "The things don't hunt in the light, an' soon it's gonna be pitch fuckin' black on this thrice-damned moon."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" hissed Johns, "This place has three fucking suns!"

"I think it's safe to say we all seriously pissed off a Murphy back in the day," Harry sighed, "How do we even get this unlucky?" he asked rhetorically.

"Shit!" said Fry, suddenly standing up from her crouch and scraping a dirty hand through her sweaty sand-colored curls, talking more to herself then anyone, "We've gotta get out of here, right the fuck now. The wings are patched. We just need to check the hull integrity, get the stores on board, food, water—"

She broke off jogging out the door. John followed her frowning deeply and looking more than a little green around the gills.

"C'mon Jack, we gotta get the guts back in the sand-cat if we're gonna need it to get the cells," Shazza said, looking pale herself as she dragged the boy, who was all of a sudden looking less belligerently sullen and more terrified.

It was a striking change from the Jack that had taken shipwrecks and jailbreaks and everything else in stride. Before everything had just been a daring adventure. Ali's death had really brought the danger home for her Harry suspected. There was nothing like watching a friend die to bring you around to the dangerous reality of a situation, he thought to himself grimly.

"C'mon 'Arry, you can 'elp me with the food, Imam you an' your boys deal with the water," Zeke ordered following his wife out the door.

Harry and Imam followed him without question.

"Zeke, how much can we really bring with us?" asked Harry uncertainly, he'd never been on a plane or in a spaceship or even on a proper boat before but Shazza's comments about weight limits was nagging at him now.

"Not a lot," Zeke said with a certain sort of grim resignation, "S'like this, the skiff isn't built for ferryin' with the power being rigged and the number of people we got on board, s'no point packin' for more'n a week and that's at the very best. Still dunno what the fiddlin' and the like's done to the ship's main drive. Could be that life-support's not great, or power don't adapt, or, fuckin' 'ell, anythin'."

"So, what you're saying," Harry said taking a fortifying breath, "Is that we're probably damned either way."

"What I'm sayin' is I like our survival odds better in that bloody skiff than on this crapped-out moon, an' that's definitely sayin' somethin'."

Wordlessly Harry nodded ignoring the fear welling up in his gut. Honestly, he'd rather stay here in the dark with the things that wanted to eat his face off then be trapped in the skiff and waiting for death to take them slow. He could fight, he could face danger death and dismemberment without a flicker of fear but he didn't know if he could willingly lock himself into that skiff with the others. Not after…

The memory of cold black nothingness pressed tight against his skin, being unable to breathe, to move, to scream.

He took a slow deliberate breath in to steady himself, trying to will away the sudden tremors in his hands and the frantic pounding of his heart. Calm down. He ordered himself sternly. There'll be plenty of time to freak out later. Right now you need to keep it together, so just…don't think about it. Do the job, get the food to the skiff and just ignore it.

Zeke noticed that Harry was unusually quiet and serious but he didn't mention it. The whole situation had everyone but Riddick on edge which was why when they'd finished with their task, Zeke went to see Shazza and sent Harry over to the convict. Hoping Riddick could settle his nerves because soon he had a feeling that he would need Harry to be strong, for Zeke's own sake if nothing else.

Riddick, for his part, had settled himself down in the shade of the skiff and had a tin of engine grease and a wickedly curved shiv on hand and in plain view. Nobody could guess what it was for but no one except Harry was willing to find out.

"What're you doing?" he asked plopping himself down next to Riddick.

"Shaving," Riddick answered easily, smoothing the viscous green goop over his head and the back of his neck, "Dunno when I'll get the chance again."

"Mind if I watch?"

"If I minded, you wouldn't be watching," Riddick pointed out, scraping the shiv carefully over the crown of his head and then sloughing the green goop off his shiv on the edge of the tin, "What's eating you sweetheart? Didn't think you of all people would be wound up over this."

Harry laughed a bit bitterly to himself. Riddick watched him out of the corner of his eye, watching the shadows, the ghosts of old memories flicker through his eyes and across his face.

"Not scared of a couple of monsters are you?" taunted Riddick after a long moment, scraping the shiv over his head again and feeling the soft fuzz of hair peel away to dark, smooth stippling on his skin.

Harry made an amused noise in the back of his throat.

"No need to bait me, Sparky, I'll tell you what scares me. In a minute."

Riddick turned slightly to the side, silently denying doing any such thing. Harry laughed again and then for a while there was only the rasp of the blade over his skin and the echoes of the conversation between Johns and Fry that only Riddick was privy to.

Soon enough Johns came stumbling out of the skiff, shivering feverishly, his eyes glassy as he leaned heavily against the hull and retched.

"It's a bad sign," Riddick said with a malicious grin, "Shaking like that in this heat."

Johns looked up and scowled when he saw Harry and Riddick together. He was pale and sweating and looked gross and ill.

"I thought I said no shi—" he shuddered, "No shivs."

"This?" said Riddick innocently, "This is just a personal grooming appliance."

"No shivs," Johns growled swaying forward.

Riddick arched a brow, and handed the shiv over to Harry.

"There you go, Johns, no shivs," grinned Riddick.

Johns glared and spat, but stalked off towards the mess hall.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Harry, only mildly interested.

"Jonesing for his next fix, junkie skeeze," sneered Riddick, then he turned to Harry and his expression morphed into a more familiar teasing quirk of the lips, "You heard the man, no shivs, I'm in a bit of a jam here, help me out?"

Harry felt his lips twist into an answering smirk as he took the shiv in hand and positioned himself behind the convict, on his knees.

"Close your eyes," he ordered softly.

Slowly, giving Riddick time to get his extraordinary eyes shut, or object, or physically stop him, Harry peeled the goggles off his head and smoothed the grease over the strip where the rubber band had been, wiping his hand on the dirty rag next to the grease tin. Carefully Harry moved the edge of the blade over Riddick's scalp, letting the repetitive motion and the unconscious intimacy of the action sooth him into speaking, his voice low and husky in Riddick's ear as he bent close.

"You wanted to know, what I'm afraid of, what terrifies me?" Harry said breathily, "Not monsters. Not dying. Not the dark. I'm scared of cages. I shouldn't be. I lived my entire life being shuttled from one cage to the next. But...I don't want to be trapped again. You can't move. Can't breathe. Can't run, or fight, or scream for help, or beg for it to stop. Well, you can, but it's all in your head. No one can hear you. Time passes and you can't tell how much because every second feels like a thousand years and thousands of years pass in a second. Sometimes you think you might remember who you are but the cold darkness pressing tight against you, holding you, suffocating you, warns you that you're better off not remembering, not knowing, cause if you let it touch you, you'll wake up, and waking up will break you completely."

Riddick remained unnaturally still feeling his gut clench in sympathetic fear and arousal both as his little lover's words washed over him, painting a picture of sensation in a voice laced with burning promises, everything heightened behind his closed eyes. The hot breath against his ear, the warmth of the body behind him, the razor edge of the shiv against his head and neck. It shouldn't be this erotic, but it was. Riddick burned for the man behind him whispering darkness into his ear like sweet nothings.

The rag swiped over his head a few times, cleaning off the remainder of the engine grease until only the scent of it lingered.

The shiv ghosted deliberately along the sensitive skin behind his ear and a low moan rumbled in his chest involuntarily.

"You know," Harry said, breathing more heavily now, Riddick almost wished he could open his eyes and turn to see pupils blown wide ringed in a sliver of brightest green, "I never did thank you properly, for saving my life."

Still moving with exquisitely tortuous slowness Harry moved to Riddick's front, on his knees, straddling his waist as he pressed languid throat swabbing kisses up the side of his neck. There was no scrape of teeth, just the warm wetness of Harry's lips and tongue and the slight prick of the shiv's point against his neck.

One clever hand snaked between them, buttons popped and zippers hissed open and Harry pressed his hips as close as they would go and rocked slightly. Riddick groaned a bit and felt the answering vibration of Harry's moan, muffled by his neck. One hand slid up the outside of Harry's thigh pulling him closer and the other joined Harry's at the fork of their legs, helping him jerk them off in that same achingly slow rhythm.

"We're gonna make a mess sweetheart," Riddick pointed out.

"Do you care?" asked Harry grinning against his throat.

"We're gonna get caught," he added and the prick in his hand twitched as he dragged a thumb across the leaking head.

"Do you care?" he asked again, his words little more than a soft panting string of moans.

"No."

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>So yeah, sorry again about the time it took to update, I left you all hanging off that damn cliff for a good long while, huh. Please accept the above mild smut as a token of my sincerest apologies! It might also interest you guys to know that this is the longest chapter I have posted so far for this fic!

I'm posting this in between classes so it's only recieved a cursory round of editing, I'll edit it properly later tonight, promise. I just wanted to quickly say thank you to all my loyal readers! You've stuck with me despite my flaky updating ways and have been a massive source of support and inspiration. This story couldn't have happened without you!

Thanks!

PS: Y'know you could also leave a review...


	11. Chapter Ten: Keep the Lights on for Us

**The Ghost in the Machine**

**Chapter Ten: Keep the Lights on For Us**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or The Chronicles of Riddick Series.

**Author's Note: **I live to write another day! So please don't kill me! Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, alert and fave, you guys are the best! And there are a lot of you, wow. I don't know if anyone other than me cares about the stats but this story has attracted more attention than I ever could have imagined when I first started it, so thank you all!

Now without further ado, the story!

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><p>Harry jerked and shuddered weakly in Riddick's grip, his back arching as the convict continued to tug and tease his over-sensitized flesh.<p>

"Shit Riddick," he moaned, the arousal re-building itself in the pit of his stomach with frightening speed, "Get off."

"That's the idea."

Harry couldn't help the noise that escaped him as Riddick moved his free hand down the back of his pants, spreading his legs with a nudge against the inside of his thighs and tracing his fingers down the cleft of his ass.

Harry, not particularly wanting to fuck in the sand, in full view of anyone who wandered into the street, without lube, again, grabbed onto the frayed threads of his self-control and caught Riddick with a boney knee to the ribs, rolling off the convict and onto his feet in one smooth motion and tugging his pants back up over his hips, tucking himself back inside, still breathing heavily.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the fog of orgasm and subsequent arousal from his mind and took stock of himself. He was flushed, sweating and covered in sand and the scent of engine grease. There was drying cum on the hem of his shirt and Harry frowned at it a bit before shrugging, as dirty and distracted as everyone was right now no one would notice.

Riddick had managed to get his shirt up out of the way before they'd released, and was, calmly as you please, mopping up the mess that coated his belly with a relatively clean edge of the grease rag.

"Why do I get the feeling that round two always devolves into rounds three and four with you," Harry commented, watching Riddick pull on his goggles and slip his discarded shiv into his pocket.

"Cause you get me, sweetheart," said Riddick, a smirk twisting his full mouth.

Harry snorted a bit, cocking his head, and then he grinned, the angle giving his features a coy cast.

"You're not that hard to figure out Riddick."

That look burned straight through Riddick and suddenly the convict wanted nothing more than to drag the slender man back down onto the sand dune and make three more rounds a reality the urge burning through his usual unaffected self-control.

He was up and had his face buried in the joint between Harry's neck and shoulder teeth grazing along the jut of his collar bone, watching the light flare up under his touch.

"Come on, we've got shit to do. Work now, sex later," Harry said insistently, nudging him with a hip.

Riddick could push, Harry roused for him more readily than any man or woman he'd ever had before, it would be easy enough to forget himself in his heat, but—

"When this is over, you and me are gonna find a bed and do nothing but fuck and sleep for a week," Riddick murmured.

"Sounds like a plan to me," hummed Harry, "But when all this is over Johns is gonna drag your insatiable ass back to slam, and if you think otherwise the sun has cooked your brain."

"Let me worry about Johns," said Riddick, poking his nose behind Harry's ear in a motion that Harry would have called nuzzling if anyone else had been doing it, "Imam's looking for you."

Harry looked up, and sure enough there was the holy man, making his way over from the mess a frown twisting his usually zen features. Riddick released him with one final smack on his ass.

"What're you gonna do?" asked Harry.

"Gotta talk to the captain."

Harry arched a brow as Riddick disappeared into the interior of the skiff, which was looking less ragged with every passing hour but turned and made his way over too Imam who had stopped half-way between the mess and the skiff, a clear enough sign that he wanted to talk alone.

Harry sighed and jogged over, he really did hate politics.

"What's up now?" asked Harry once he got within earshot.

"Hassan, he has informed me that saw something that he really should not have," said Imam, disapproval written in every line of his face.

Harry grimaced a bit sheepishly, "Got an eyeful, did he? Sorry."

"Harry, my friend," said Imam, dropping one hand adorned with many silver rings onto his slender shoulder, using the weight of it to ensure Harry's undivided attention, "I cannot tell you how you should live your life, and I am happy that you and Riddick have found some happiness in each other in this dark hour, he is lucky to find himself worthy of your companionship."

"I'm sensing a but," said Harry, flippantly.

"However, I have to ask that you not be quite so demonstrative with your physical affections," said Imam in a tone that brooked no argument, "The children are too young and innocent to be exposed to such blatant sexuality, and it makes Paris uncomfortable, to say nothing of what Mr. Johns would do if he saw you."

Maybe it was the fact that his magic was strengthening again, maybe Riddick was rubbing off on him in more ways than just the obvious, but Harry let his lips curl away from his teeth in a feral smirk at the thought of what he would do if Johns got up the balls to come after him seriously.

"If Johns wants to start something, let him. I'm not afraid of him and it's better to get it out of the way before the shitstorm hits, or we're locked up in that deathtrap Fry calls an aircraft."

Imam's dark eyes were searching as they bore into his own steady gaze. Harry wondered, not for the first time, what people saw in him when they stared at him like that, so intently, like they could read his mind past his flawless occlumency shields, or worse, like they could see him all the way down to the blood-drenched animalistic core of his well-honed survival instinct.

"You must do what you think is best with regard to Mr. Johns," he said finally, his voice even but troubled, as if he hadn't found whatever it was he was looking for, "But I urge you to remember that engaging in sexual activities in front of young innocents is not appropriate behavior."

Harry flushed a bit at that, Hassan couldn't have seen too much as far as inches of flesh were concerned but Harry was very much aware that every little touch of Riddick's turned him into a panting wanton mess and it was a little embarrassing to learn that someone other than his current partner had seen him like that.

"It won't happen again," Harry said.

"See that it doesn't," nodded Imam, his face then cleared as though he'd wiped the troubles of the day completely from his thoughts, "Come, take a bit of food and water before we have to journey back to the crash site."

Out of the corner of his eye Harry watched Riddick leave the skiff and move off into the settlement, his rolling gait telling Harry he was far too pleased with himself. Fry stalked out of the skiff and in the opposite direction from Riddick, twitchy and agitated a moment later. Unexpectedly Harry felt a flare of white-hot jealously spark in his gut.

If Riddick had touched her, toyed with her, seduced her—Harry shook himself a bit, Riddick should know better. As long as they were fucking Riddick was _his_, and if the convict wasn't aware of that, well, he would just have to _make_ him excruciatingly bloody aware of it.

"Harry?" queried Imam.

"Yeah," said Harry, letting his senses track Fry across the compound and into one of the bigger residences along the main street, "Save me something I've just gotta talk to the captain for a second."

"Very well," agreed Imam, but Harry was already stalking off after Fry.

The shutters on the building she'd ducked into were pulled closed and the door was half-open but the tracks in the dust let Harry know that someone had spent the night here, probably Johns judging by the size of the tread marks.

That revelation had Harry arching a brow, as he ducked into the hut and settled himself down in a crouch in the shadows of the entranceway. What kind of game was Riddick playing, sending Fry running to Johns?

Fry and Johns were in the main room of the hut, but Johns seemed not to notice Fry lingering in the door frame watching as he tilted his head back and slid a needle into his tear duct. After a long moment he sighed in relief, blinking fast, as the hypodermic dumped it's payload into his bloodstream with a pneumatic hiss.

"So who are you really?" demanded Fry, stepping out of the shadows and into a confrontation.

Johns didn't jerk with surprise, his movements easy and fluid. Almost too fluid.

"Hello Carolyn."

"You're not a cop are you?"

"Never said I was," countered Johns lazily.

"No you didn't," agreed Fry in a small voice, crossing the room to stand in front of him, perhaps seeing her hero, her partner in all this shit for what he really was for the first time, was that Riddick's angle? Split up the dream-team?

"You never said you were a hype either."

Reaching over she snatched one of the red shotgun shells from Johns' black case, twisting the casing off to reveal what Harry suspected were little ampules of the drug that Johns was shooting up with. She ran her hands over the red shells, silently counting.

"You have a little caffeine in the morning, and I have a little morphine. So what?"

"And here in this shithole you have two mornings every day. Wow, were you born lucky or what?" said Fry her voice dripping with uncharacteristic scorn.

"It's not a problem unless you're gonna make—"

"No," snapped Fry, slamming her hand down on the table and sending a few loose shells rolling of into the sand, "No, you made it a problem, _my_ fucking problem, when you let Owens die like that, when all this time you had enough drugs here to knock out a fucking mule-team."

"Owens was already dead," snapped Johns, quieting Fry for a moment, then he smiled, a nasty smile that reflected in the cold blue of his gaze, "His brain just hadn't caught on to the fact yet."

Fry choked on her own protest her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and then she took a breath, shook her head and said, "Is there anything else I should know about you Johns? I mean Jesus fucking Christ I'm letting you play games, letting you roll the dice on our lives while you're—"

Johns surged to his feet with surprising agility for someone who was probably high as a kite, caught Fry by the wrist and dragged her flush against his body. She froze, in shock, most probably, but maybe there was something else there, Harry couldn't tell without seeing her face. Johns dragged her hand under his shirt, tracing it across his sweat damp skin slowly until it settled in the dip above his belt-line where his spine curved inward above the swell of his ass.

Fry's breathing hitched and Harry watched the play of her shoulder muscles as Johns released her hands and left her free to drag her fingertips over the spot he'd shown her.

"You feel it? That is my first run-in with Riddick," he murmured into the top of her head, "He went for the sweet spot and missed. They had to leave a piece of the shiv in there, Carolyn, and I can still feel it, everyday, pressing against the cord of my spine. So maybe the care and feeding of my nerve endings is my own business."

Harry watched Fry lean into Johns' warmth for a brief moment and could easily imagine from the blissed out expression on the merc's face just how good it was for him to have her pressed against him, her nimble hands tracing over the outline of the sensitive scar tissue. She tilted her face up to look into his eyes and Harry thought for a second that she was going to let him lean in and kiss her, everything else be damned, but instead she took a step back.

"It's just that you could've done something, and you didn't."

She turned to leave and Johns slumped back into his seat, a bitter smile twisting his features into their customary ugliness.

"Yeah, well, look to thine own ass first, isn't that right Carolyn?"

Fry flinched at that parting shot, and watching her stalk out Harry almost felt sorry for the both of them.

Outside, Hassan and Suleiman were calling out for "captain" babbling urgently in Arabic as they accosted her just outside the door.

"I'm not your fucking captain," she told them tiredly.

Harry waited until Johns had gathered himself and slipped out behind Fry and then followed after them to see what was wrong, although given the circumstances, and the ominous chill creeping up his spine, he could probably already guess.

Sure enough gathered in the street everybody was just watching as a golden arch rose from the horizon and then a second, casting a shadowy haze over part of the sky as it started to obstruct the far right edge of the binary suns' aureole.

"What are my eyes seeing?" whispered Paris.

"It's starting," answered Fry staring hypnotically as the edge of the horizon began to darken, the ringed planet moving in between the binary suns and Hades.

Wheeling around Harry noted that there was no blue luminescence rising on the opposite horizon though the binary stars were already well on their way to setting for the day. Harry guessed that the smaller gaseous planet had already moved into position to block the light from the blue sun. Their time was almost up.

"If we need anything from the crash ship," said Shazza, her voice strangely calm, "I suggest we kick on. That sand-cat is solar and we've got nothing to hold a charge with so once we lose the light that's it."

"Hull integrity is good and I've adapted the one cell we brought back before but we still need five more power cells to launch the ship," said Fry.

"I'll drive," said Zeke.

Everybody started moving as one towards the sand-cat and Harry immediately started to shake his head.

"Wait, wait," he said, "We can't all fit on that thing so some of us have to stay here with the ship."

"He's right," agreed Fry suddenly shaking her head as she looked over her shoulder at the entirety of their group

"Alrigh' but who?" asked Zeke.

"Hassan, Suleiman and Jack, for sure—"

"I can help!" Jack protested.

"I'm sure you can," agreed Harry, ruffling his fuzzy bristle fondly, "But the power cells are too heavy for you to carry. Obviously Fry needs to go, so one person per cell—Me, Zeke, Riddick, Johns, and Imam are probably the strongest physically."

"Sound like a plan," agreed Zeke.

"I'm coming with you," protested Shazza.

"No, stay here with Jack n' the boys, they need someone who knows what they're doin' if we don' make it," said Zeke taking her by the shoulders.

"Don' talk like that! And that's exactly why I don' want you to go off alone! You always get yourself into trouble—"

Zeke cut her off with a short open-mouthed kiss.

"M'not alone, Harry'll be there an' we need you here prepping tha' bloody skiff for a quick take-off."

"We don't really have time to argue the point," said Fry, already moving for her tool belt, "Zeke, get the sand-cat ready, I want this group moving five fucking minutes ago!"

Fry's orders had an uncharacteristically commanding snap to them, Harry noted. She could really get things done when her ass was on the line. Johns, for his part, had already turned on his heel and dashed back into the house they'd just exited from, probably to grab his vest and gun.

Zeke bent and kissed Shazza again, more thoroughly.

"We'll be alrigh' so keep them lights on for us, luvvy."

Harry and Zeke made a dash for the sand-cat, Harry grabbing the cables and scrap metal sled they'd need to drag the cells, lashing a tarp over them so they wouldn't roll around and get underfoot, and Zeke getting the vehicle running, double checking the power levels.

Riddick swung up into the back of the sand-cat with Harry, seemingly unfazed by all the excitement or the planet creeping by inches past the horizon, and Fry slid into the seat next to Zeke dumping her tools under her feet, her O2 rig discarded.

Surprisingly it was Paris, not Imam who jumped into the bed of the sand-cat with Harry and Riddick.

"Where's Imam?" demanded Zeke.

"I thought that he shouldn't be separated from his boys, in case the worst should happen," said Paris, and Harry would have bet good money he was lying through his teeth, "Not to worry, old boy, I'm stronger than I look."

"No time to argue," said Fry, "Drive."

"Johns!" Zeke called, putting the sand-cat into drive and circling the vehicle in a wide U-turn to point it back towards the canyon they'd walked through what seemed like forever ago.

Johns burst out of his hut, still tightening the straps on the belt of ammo he had strapped across his shoulder, and grabbed the top of the roll-cage to haul himself into the vehicle as it started to move in earnest, Riddick lending him a hand up the rest of the way.

Harry was unsurprised but a little disgusted to note the two red shells tucked into the belt alongside the blue ones.

Zeke drove like a maniac and through the canyon, ploughing through obstacles like they weren't even there and leaving everyone the duck and madly try and cover their heads and necks as they drove through one of the massive skeletons of the boneyard and sent the whole thing crashing down behind them.

Once they were out on the open plain of the rocky desert they made good time, speeding over terrain in minutes that had taken them hours to cover by foot. Harry watched, apprehension pooling in his gut, as the curve of the ringed-planet crested the horizon. Backlit by the red and yellow light of the binary stars as they too made their slow descent out of the sky, the planet took on a hellish fiery glow.

"What do you think?" asked Riddick, glancing at him over the tops of his folded arms.

"It's horrifyingly beautiful," Harry answered absently all his attention focused on the planet-rise.

Riddick laughed at him a bit, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care, his focus turned itself inward, gauging the strength of his magic in case they got into a tight spot.

"There's the wreck!" said Fry, pointing.

Zeke adjusted their trajectory a little and upped to speed until they were flying over the terrain every bump and divot threatening to send the people in the back flying off.

He skidded to a halt in front of the split in the hull wheeling around to face back the way they'd come while everyone else swung out of the sand-cat and made a run for the battery bay, Fry in the lead, with Johns and Riddick hot on her heels.

Harry kicked the sled out of the back of the vehicle carelessly. Using the cables to hitch it to the sand-cat.

"Hey! Where the bloody hell are you goin'?" demanded Zeke as Paris took off running across the sand towards the cargo hold, his silks billowing in the sudden high wind, raised, probably, from the sudden change in temperature on the other side of the planet where it had already been full dark for who knew how long.

"I'm just going to get a couple of things, I'll only be a few minutes," said Paris, turning to call back to them, "You wouldn't leave without me!"

"Yes, I bloody well would!" Zeke called after his retreating back, "If yer stinkin' arse ain't back 'ere before the cells are loaded on consider yerself monster bait!"

"Come on!" urged Harry darting into the ship.

The battery bay was just how they'd left it and Fry punched in the override code to the computers, flipping the ship over to emergency lighting and auxiliary power, not that that meant much of anything seeing as how the life support systems were totally trashed in the crash but it allowed Johns to pull one of the big cells out of its socket without electrocuting himself.

Johns grunted dragging the cell along the ground for a few steps until he saw Riddick heft his own cell over his shoulder and move out of the battery bay at a fair clip. Then he grit his teeth and with a noise of effort got his cell up over his shoulder and darted out after the convict.

"Someone ought to tell those two to just whip 'em out and measure," Harry snorted, tugging his own cell out of its proper place and using his arms to cradle the ridiculously heavy thing.

Zeke came into the bay just as Fry was determinedly pulling at the third cell and moved to help her while Harry continued outside. Johns and Riddick had both dumped their burdens into the sled and were now racing both the eclipse and each other back to the battery bay, bypassing Harry at a fair clip.

Still, Harry was glad that they were moving and that Zeke had left the sand-cat running because the rising planet was starting to cast a shadow over everything. Its bulk blotting out the better part of the sky. The sand-cat started to stutter.

"Shit!" cursed Harry swinging up on top of the roll cage and trying to wipe some of the accumulated dust from the drive from the cover over the solar panels, "Hurry the fuck up!" he called.

One by one the last three power cells were loaded onto the sled, one each for Zeke, Riddick and Johns. Zeke bent and lashed the tarp around them so they wouldn't lose them in the mad rush back to the settlement.

"Alrigh', we're gone!" shouted the prospector sliding back into the driver's seat of the sand-cat.

The planet rose inexorably, its widest point passing over the horizon and the rings finally reaching up to block the light from the binary suns.

The engine on the sand-cat stuttered and died underneath Harry's hands.

"Fuck, no!" cursed Zeke kicking at the dashboard.

Rising from the spires came a long triumphant creel, echoed by another and another, trailing off into trilling, satisfied hisses that Harry could barely make out over the sound of cracking stone and fluttering.

"Time's up," he said, more to himself then anyone, his eyes seeking out the dark jutting of the stone spires against the sky in what little dim light remained.

Incongruously Harry was reminded of first year and the sound of Professor Flitwick's enchanted keys, the sound of the rustling of many wings as the creatures rose from their dens and took to the air, their cries melding into one bone-melting, screeching roar.

"How many are there?" Johns demanded of Riddick.

Riddick stared out into the darkness as hypnotized by the spiraling mass of fully-grown airborne predators as the rest of them had been by the rising planet. He didn't answer Johns but Harry thought he might have heard the word beautiful slip from between his lips.

Harry found himself agreeing as he watched the creatures bank sharply, moving as one towards them.

Deadly, terrible, beautiful.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Sorry for the slightly shorter chappie, especially since it's been ten months since my last update (a new record of slowness for me and this fic, I do believe) but this is really just a filler and you guys can expect a longer action-packed chapter on the next go around (whenever that is). Strangely the further into this story I get the more difficult it becomes to power through with the full chapter and update, so, with that in mind, I can't promise that I'll update soon, but I will try and punch something out for you guys over the Christmas break.

Hope you all enjoyed, please let me know what you thought! Your reviews are all that keep me going in the darkest hours of frustration and writer's block.

Til next time!


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